Champions
by Thor's Shadow
Summary: Harry takes a moment to help another Champion during the Second Task, and the unexpected aftermath forever changes his life.
1. The Trouble With Veela

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Fleur Delacour. Or anyone else. I make no money. At all. Whatsoever. The only thing I get out of this is my (in)sanity.**

**A/N: I could tell you that I'm new here and ask you to go easy on me, but where would be the fun in that? This is a teaser for a story that I'm almost finished writing (currently fixing a couple of plot holes before I tie it up). It's a heavily-clichéd, feel-good (for me anyway), Dumbledore- and Ron-bashing romp in JKR's world. And there are so few good H/F fics! Enjoy!**

**Chapter 1**

The Trouble With Veela

Fleur Delacour was often overlooked. Oh, she was noticed – as a veela it was hard not to be, to her ongoing distress – but that was only her beauty. Fleur herself, the person within the shell, was a complete unknown to all but her family.

She spent many years perfecting her outer image, the perfect combination of snobbery and shallowness, which she used to push ordinary people away. It offered a counterweight to the natural magical allure that drew them to her in the first place, resulting in a scenario where people loved to watch from afar, but were unwilling to approach her directly. It was the only way she could have any peace.

Unfortunately, it also meant that she had no friends.

Oh, there was the occasional acquaintance, but she had yet to meet someone outside her family who could manage to enjoy her company without becoming either intimidated by her beauty, or enthralled by it. Her few attempts at friendship had ended in rapid disaster: the boys did nothing but drool, and the girls hated her for the way the boys acted. Fleur could never understand their jealousy; why would they desire such a lonely existence?

The result was that she spent a great deal of time on her own, taking solace in books and homework, and academically she was at the top of her class. Of course, this just made things worse: beauty _and _brains? Impossible! She must be cheating! And on it went.

And if that weren't bad enough, now she was in this stupid Tournament!

Her Headmistress had been quite convincing, playing on her insecurities as she had: wouldn't the students love you if you brought home such glory? Wouldn't it prove once and for all that you earned your grades? Fleur had fallen for it hook, line, and sinker – and worse, it was backfiring spectacularly!

Her performance against the dragon was reasonable enough, though what they were thinking with such a task was beyond her. Even Maxime was angry at the dangers involved, as she had been promised that the Tournament would be safe! But the contract was binding, and Fleur had to compete; and somehow, by some miracle, she had prevailed against the most frightening experience of her life to date.

It seemed a good thing, for once earning the adulation of her fellow students even if she didn't take first place, but she could hear the quiet murmurs in the background. Some wondered if her performance relative to the other Champions – especially a fourteen-year-old who wasn't even supposed to be there – was indicative of her future in the Tournament. Was she really good enough to represent such a prestigious school as Beauxbatons?

The Second Task only leant credence to their fears. Never mind that she was terrified for the safety of her sister – and whose idea was _that_, anyway? – and never mind that Veela and water don't mix. The fact that she had to be rescued, and came in dead last, had fanned the flames, and the murmurs became a dull roar. She feared her return to the school, as she was likely to be lynched before she could even graduate, for she had no doubt that she was going to lose!

Sadly, though, for all that she was worried about these things, they were the least of her problems at the moment.

Harry Potter, bless his soul, had acquiesced to her request to keep quiet about what had truly gone on in the depths of the Black Lake. She wasn't sure why it bothered her at the time – she was too emotional after her rescue at his hands, let alone that of her sister – but made the request just the same, and he was kind enough to agree. It wasn't until several hours after the fact that her thoughts finally calmed enough that she could think about it.

And now that she had, she was terrified! She stood outside the door to her father's guest accommodations, trembling in fear, clueless as to how he would react. Her father was opposed to this from the beginning, and now that she understood the real danger, she wished that she would have listened! It was too late now, though, and it was time to face the music.

And so she knocked tentatively on his door.

Her mother was unable to get away, and so he and Gabrielle had come to watch. She knew him to be incensed about the kidnapping of her sister by the Hogwarts Headmaster, and he was unlikely to be in a good mood as a result. She loved her parents dearly, and they her, but she never wanted her father's anger aimed in her direction.

He was an intimidating man, high up in the upper echelons of the French magical government, and could be downright scary at times. He had never been so with his family, but she had seen enough of his dealings with unpleasant people to know that she never wanted to be the one to feel his wrath. This was the first time she could recall that she truly feared it, however!

The door creaked open, and Gabrielle's shining blue eyes peered out for a moment before she squealed and threw it wide, jumping into her sister's arms. In spite of the situation, Fleur had to smile as she hugged her; she loved her sister dearly, and the warmth of that love was a sorely needed balm to her troubled soul. She lingered as long as she could before finally making her way inside, where her father was reading by the fire.

He looked up at her, and his brow creased in concern when he took in her tattered appearance. "Fleur?" he called worriedly. "What's wrong, chérie?"

Fleur shifted uneasily, and unable to meet his gaze, she stared for a moment into the crackling fire. It was quite frigid in Scotland at this time of year, so the heat was a welcome respite from the cool air in the halls. Still, as much as she would like to have curled up and forgotten all about it, she forced herself to press on.

"We need to talk, Papa," she informed him nervously.

Sebastian Delacour was nothing if not perceptive, and upon hearing her voice crack, he slowly closed his book, his eyes never leaving her face. She could feel his gaze burning into her, and her cheeks heated in embarrassment and shame. This was the worst day of her life to date, and she wished desperately that she could go back in time and change it!

"Sit down, chérie," he urged softly. "Tell me what's wrong."

Fleur dithered for a moment before finally giving in and gliding gracefully into the armchair nearest the fire. Still holding Gabrielle in her arms, she settled on the edge of the seat, unable to relax in the slightest. Her sister must have sensed her distress, for she tightened her grip, and Fleur soaked in that much-needed feeling of love.

She opened her mouth to speak, but she could not for the life of her figure out where to start. How was she to tell him this? How would he react? Frustrated, she closed her eyes again, tears beginning to leak from them against her will.

She heard her father shift, and sensed him kneeling before her, felt him placing one gentle hand against her cheek, careful not to jostle the bundle in her arms. The gesture of comfort almost broke her completely: how could she accept it when she was about to make him so very ashamed of her? It was almost too much to handle!

"Fleur?" he prompted in deepening concern.

Fleur swallowed thickly, and finally forced herself to confront her fears. "Papa," she began, her voice crackling with emotion, "do you– do you know what happens when– when a Veela owes a life debt?"

Her father sucked in a sharp breath, and his hand stilled. She dared not open her eyes, lest she see his horror: his reaction told her that he knew, and she did not want to see it.

"Did someone save your life, Fleur?" he asked carefully.

Fleur nodded and choked back a sob. It was out now, too late to stop the telling, and she was terrified! "The Grinydlows almost killed me," she admitted tearfully. "'Arry, he– he saved me, Papa, and– and it's the reason he was hurt. His time ran out early because he saved me!"

Her voice rose in pitch as her feelings struggled for release, and her entire body vibrated with the pressure of her pent up emotions. It was too few hours since the event for her to even remotely come to terms with it, not that she knew how! Her life was forever changed, and she could do nothing about it, and that was to say nothing of what it might do to Harry when he found out!

Would he even deem her worthy of saving a second time, especially at so high a cost?

As her mind whirled, she dimly registered that Gabrielle was being pulled away from her, and another sob escaped her at the loss of her sister, who felt like her only anchor in the storm. Moments later, however, even as Gabby's weight disappeared completely, she felt her father's arms come around her in a warm embrace, and he pulled her close, holding her tightly.

It was too much for her – she didn't deserve it – and she finally lost what little remained of her control, her sobs echoing in the chamber. He murmured soothingly to her, but she was so distraught that she could not hear his words. Why had she done this? Why had she ignored her parents and gotten herself into such trouble?

She had no idea how long he held her, but soon she cried herself out, and he gently drew away, lowering himself to stare into her eyes. She was startled to see nothing but concern there; there was no anger, no shame; only the love that he had always given his daughters, whether they needed it or not.

And for the first time in many hours, a tiny sliver of hope arose.

"We'll get you through this, chérie," he soothed. "I promise you, we'll get you through this. Now, why don't you tell me what happened?"

And so she did. She told him of her panic when she discovered that Gabrielle was missing, and how that awful song said that if she was not found, she would never return. She told him how she was so lost in the lake, completely unable to orient herself, her senses and magic disrupted by the unfriendly alien environment. And she told him of how those awful Grindylows sensed her presence and swarmed her like a pack of angry hippogriffs.

"I thought I was going to die, Papa," she whispered. "I _knew_ I was going to die! And next thing I know, they start letting go of me. The last thing I remember is seeing 'Arry casting spells at them like a wild man. I couldn't get any air, and–"

She choked up again, and again her father gave her a hug. There was no possible doubt that the debt was real: had she lost consciousness unattended, not only would her charm have eventually failed and caused her to drown, but those infernal creatures would eventually have found her and killed her anyway! She felt a brief surge of anger at the carelessness of the Tournament organizers, but it disappeared again quickly, buried under her grief.

"Let us be sure," suggested her father, drawing his wand from a pocket in his elegant robes. "_Afficher toutes les dettes!"_

A pale shaft of white light left the tip of his wand and struck her in the chest, just over her aching heart. She was not surprised when the glow spread, turning a faint gold as it encompassed her entire body, and then brightening into the deepest golden glow she had ever seen. She knew what that meant, and it did nothing to reassure her.

She was right!

He sighed heavily and moved back to his seat, his face drawn, his eyes downcast as he thought it through. There was a palpable sadness about him that made her heart ache all the more. He was about to lose his daughter, and he knew this, but there was nothing to be done. She wanted to take it back, to tell him it was all a mistake!

"Tell me of 'Arry," he said softly. "What do you know of him?"

Fleur drew her legs up beneath her and shrank back into the plush armchair, recognizing that now they were down to serious business. She wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the unnatural cold she felt, and did her best to order her thoughts. What _did_ she really know of him?

"He is... different, from the others," she said slowly. "I first saw him when he came to tell us that he was selected as a Champion. He denied his involvement, but nobody believed him." Her lips quirking slightly in wry amusement, she added, "I think I called him a little boy."

Her father snorted in spite of himself, and motioned for her to continue. She remembered the incident clearly – but she had a very different perspective on it now. The things that had transpired in the interim painted a very different picture of the so-called Boy Who Lived...

"I think he was telling the truth, Papa," she said after a while. "He was not happy to be there, and he was quite vocal about it. He had no fear of Dumbledore or that awful Potions Professor, and I think he was greatly angered by them."

"Go on," he nodded.

Fleur sighed, her emotions settling as she focused on less troublesome memories. "I remember one boy passing out horrible badges," she frowned. "They were quite rude, but 'Arry said nothing. What I don't understand is why the Professors did not act. It was terrible."

Her father cocked his head to the side, listening as he often did to what she wasn't saying. "What were these badges?" he asked with a frown.

"They said 'Potter Stinks'," she scowled. "And alternately that Cedric was the 'real' 'ogwarts Champion."

His lips thinned as he listened to her explanation. "And this was a 'ogwarts boy that was passing them out?" he asked with an edge to his voice. "And the Professors did _nothing_?"

"Nothing," she confirmed.

A brief silence fell as Fleur remembered. Even though she was upset that Harry was present at the time, she had never held it against him, choosing instead to take him at his word after she'd had some time to think about it. Because of that, her sympathy for him was pronounced; he was being ridiculed by his own school in front of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and for what?

For the pleasure of a jealous little boy, near as she could tell. But that the Professors didn't stop him, _that_ had truly incensed her! She herself had been the subject of much ridicule, and knew what it was to see one's enemies tacitly supported by the very people who were supposed to protect her! It was much the same.

"He was very nervous at the wand weighing," she recalled after a moment, "and I do not think he knew what to do when that reporter approached him. He was angry when he returned with her, and I remember thinking that she was not a nice person. Her name is Rita Skeeter."

Her father sucked in a sharp breath at the name. "They allowed that _woman_ to interview a student without supervision?" he asked incredulously.

"You know of her?" she asked, curious despite herself.

"She is a piece of work," he scowled. "She twists and invents words, and never are her articles truthful. She should not have been anywhere near a school."

"Many things are happening that should not," grumbled Fleur.

He snorted in agreement with the sentiment. "Go on, Fleur," he urged. "Tell me more."

"There is not much more to tell, Papa," she frowned. "The rumors say that he is arrogant and prideful, but I have never heard him boast. He is very quiet, and always he is with his two friends, a boy and a girl." Snorting to herself, she added, "The boy is very obnoxious. He even tried to ask me to the Ball, but he left before I could answer. He is very immature."

Frowning in memory, she continued, "And I do not think 'Arry even wanted to be at the Ball. He looked terribly annoyed. It is as if he is being pushed from place to place, forced to do someone else's bidding."

"He did well in the First Task, did he not?" asked her father curiously.

"Yes," she nodded. "He should have been first, Papa, but that idiot Karkaroff will not score fairly."

He nodded his understanding, and silence fell as he pondered what he'd heard so far. Fleur, too, thought of her recollections of him; he was not what he appeared if her suspicions were correct, but nor was he what others wanted the public to believe. There were hidden depths in his eyes, eyes that had seen far too much. He was older than his years for some unfathomable reason.

She'd seen it enough in her father's Auror friends to know what to look for. He had the eyes of a battle-hardened veteran, but not the age for it, which was confusing! What could he possibly have been through in only fourteen years?

"And what do you think of him?" asked her father into the silence, interrupting her musings.

Fleur shrugged. "I do not know, Papa," she sighed sadly. "He is very quiet, as I have said, and I do not think he has a mean bone in his body. He is capable, and he is honorable. He is so very young, and yet so very old. I do not know what to make of him."

Slowly he nodded. "Then we will find out," he declared. "If he is as honorable as you say, then he will do the right thing, but I want to know more about him. Much more. Some of what you told me is worrisome."

Completely unsurprised by his decision, she simply nodded. "What do I do until then, Papa?" she asked quietly. "I do not know how to deal with this! What am I to say to him?"

He shook his head at her. "You will say nothing, Fleur," he told her. "Whether you are of age or not, I am still your father, and it is my place to handle this. I will speak with 'Arry when I am satisfied that I have enough information. Do not worry yourself over it."

A tear slithered down her cheek in silent relief. Telling Harry what was to become of him was the most frightening prospect of all! That her father would take it on, took an enormous burden from her shoulders! There was still more than enough to worry about, but one less thing was truly welcome.

"Who will tell Maman?" she asked quietly.

He smiled a wry smile back at her, understanding her point completely. "I will do that as well," he assured her. "And put your fears away, chérie, you have done nothing wrong, understand?"

When Fleur finally crawled into bed that night, it was with equal measure of relief and terror dominating her thoughts. Her terror was simple to define: she was facing a life-changing event that had never been part of her dreams, and it would forever alter her future in ways that she could not know. Either she would be dead in a month, or–

–she wasn't ready to think about that just yet.

She did not want to die, and truly, she did not think it would come to that. It was simply not Harry's way. If he was willing to assist her at his own expense when there should have been no danger, would he ever let her die when he could prevent it? No, she wasn't worried about that, and she would deal with the rest later.

She was, however, very relieved that it would not be her that broke the news.


	2. Investigating Harry Potter

**Chapter 2**

Investigating Harry Potter

The tall, thin, Armani-clad form of Sebastian Delacour stood silently on the walkway in front of Number Four, Privet Drive, simply taking everything in. His jet black hair had acquired an edge of grey over the years, and made him look quite distinguished among the would-be royalty of Little Whinging, Surrey. His brown eyes scanned the scene with a keen intelligence that tended to frighten anyone who ended up in his political sights.

The investigation that led him to this place was fraught with dead ends. As a celebrity, there was no shortage of information available about Harry James Potter, but there was also no mistaking the multitude of contradictions amongst the sources. If he didn't know better, he would say that every last story about him was a complete and utter fabrication.

And standing here in this austere neighborhood, he began to truly believe that.

One thing the stories all had in common was that they started with the boy growing up in either a magical castle that bore a suspicious resemblance to Hogwarts, or an enormous manor house with hundreds of servants to cater to his every whim. His records at the Ministry of Magic, however, told a very different story: his home was in a Muggle neighborhood, and his guardians were Muggles themselves. It had taken quite a lot of effort to retrieve that information, but Sebastian was certain of his facts.

Those same records painted an unusual and troublesome picture, too. For one, while he lived with the Dursley family in Little Whinging, his finances were controlled by Albus Dumbledore himself. Having those responsibilities separated in such a way was virtually unheard of in their world, so it raised an immediate red flag.

For another, guessing that the Potter Will would explain the division, he had immediately looked it up – only to find that it was sealed, again, by Albus Dumbledore. No amount of wrangling could get that document released. It shouldn't have even been legal, but there it was, certified by the Chief Warlock himself!

And finally, there was a tiny note from the British Department of Mysteries: Harry Potter was the subject of an active Prophecy, no additional information available.

Apart from his average Hogwarts grades, there was nothing further in the Ministry files, which was strange in and of itself. Most children had at least one warning for accidental magic, and there should have been Social Services inspections for his safety, but none of those things existed. To say that it was bizarre was a huge understatement: something was rotten, and he was a good enough politician to know that it went all the way to the top!

Since he couldn't obtain anything particularly useful from the Wizarding records, he next turned to the Muggle world – and there the story took a decidedly darker turn. While there were no complaints recorded against the Dursleys, the number of times their nephew visited the hospital was beyond suspicious. Digging in further, he discovered that the visits were never for illness, but rather for violent injuries like broken arms, broken legs, broken ribs, and concussions.

Either Harry Potter was an unthinkably accident-prone child, or something awful was happening in that house.

His school grades were interesting as well. At first they were quite impressive for his age, but then, at the beginning of the second quarter of his first year at school, they fell dramatically. There was no explanation given, but the reviews from his teachers changed from glowing to derisive, virtually overnight! He could only guess why it happened, and was certain that the reason was nothing good.

The Dursleys themselves were much less interesting, at lest according to their records. The family consisted of Petunia, a housewife; Vernon, the managing Director of a Muggle power tool manufacturer; and Dudley, the son, who by all rights was as dim as Harry's grades made him appear to be. They hadn't so much as a parking ticket on their records, and they were quite well off financially.

Again, the lack of blemishes was a blemish in and of itself. Everyone had at least a late credit card payment or something of the sort, or some other thing that would count against them in some small way! There was _nothing_ where the Dursleys were concerned, and that caused him to wonder if there had been some sort of intervention by Wizards.

And once again, there were no Social Services inspections.

Sebastian did not yet have a complete picture, but the pieces he had so far clearly indicated that it would be a highly disturbing one. The tone of his investigation changed quickly: he was now working not only to ensure his daughter's safety, but Harry's as well. Regardless of anything else, the boy had saved his daughter's life, and without any expectations whatsoever of receiving a reward of any kind. It was the only way a life debt could form!

Looking up again at the startlingly plain house that stood in front of him, he had a disturbing feeling that he was about to find the missing pieces.

A two-story affair in typical Muggle style, the house would probably have been quite nice in the care of the right family. Instead, it was devoid of personality: from the bright white paint, to the white picket fence that surrounded the yard, to the perfectly-spaced roses under the windowsill, it looked like it was inhabited by machines who had no concept of art or beauty. Even the silver Mercedes that stood in the drive was perfectly parked, positioned like something out of an architectural magazine for the rich and famous!

The rest of the neighborhood was only marginally better, as though they were trying to keep up with the Dursleys. Hints of life shone thorough in various places, but only just. They were also apparently quite nosy: women had peeped out at him from the windows of at least four different houses in the first thirty seconds alone.

Realizing that he looked rather strange standing there on the sidewalk, he turned and made his way calmly up to the front door, his professional mask automatically slipping down over his emotions. He already had suspicions about these people, but it simply would not do for them to know, at least not yet. He would play it straight with them, and react accordingly.

After taking stock of himself and making sure that all of his preparations were in place, he casually reached out and pressed the buzzer.

The door was opened by a tall, sickly-thin, horse-faced woman, whose nose was stuck firmly in the air, her attitude perfectly matching her environment. She wore a bad copy of a designer dress, and a gaudy gold chain hung around her neck, with a ghastly-looking heart-shaped pendant hanging in the valley between her sagging breasts. Her high heels added an inch or two to her height, but again they were bad knock-offs.

As a man who spent considerable time around full-blooded Veela, he would know: they certainly talked about their fashions enough!

"Yes?" she asked snootily.

"Petunia Dursley?" he queried.

"What do you want?" she snapped back.

"I am Seigneur Sebastian Delacour," he told her smoothly. "If you 'ave a few moments, I 'ave important business with you and your 'usband."

When he saw her eyes travel down from the clouds and over his well-dressed form, he was very glad that he'd thought ahead. From their finances he guessed that they might be impressed by money – and if they weren't, it wouldn't matter – and so he put on his best Muggle attire, which was far better than the vast majority could afford. And unlike the woman in front of him, _his_ clothing was the real deal!

And sure enough, her eyes turned calculating as she studied him, probably trying to figure out how she could best take advantage of his presence. He didn't really care; as long as he got inside, he would gain the information he wanted. He just had to get off the street first.

"Very well," she said finally. "You can wait in the living room, and I'll get Vernon."

"_Merci_."

The inside of the house was just as sterile and lifeless as the outside. Only a few portraits lined the bright white walls, each showing a family of three. Nowhere in those images was Harry, which began to confirm his suspicions. The husband and son were disgustingly large, too, as though gluttony was their favorite hobby.

Petunia's heels beat a staccato rhythm on the spotless hardwood floor as she led him to a living room that was just as immaculate as everywhere else. And again, the only pictures present were of the Dursley family, no Harry. His hackles were starting to rise; it was quite clear that these people had no love of their nephew from that one clue alone!

Depositing himself on a sagging sofa – apparently ruined by the average weight of her family – he waited patiently for her return, images of hospital forms floating through his brain. He wanted to tie these people down and feed them Veritaserum, but it wasn't yet time for that. Caution was warranted so nobody could claim that he had done something wrong.

Finally Petunia returned with her husband, and Sebastian rose respectfully from his chair to greet the man. He badly wanted to act like he owned them – which he did if he so chose – but he pushed that impulse down. He had met people like this before, and they would make their bed soon enough.

Vernon was even more disgusting in person than in the pictures. He was dressed in an absolutely horrid gray suit, and the sport coat left a two-foot gap that his enormous stomach hung in. The white dress shirt was over-starched and looked like it was made of cardboard, and worse, there were a multitude of food stains on it! His large tie was bright orange, and scalded the eyes.

He had to ruthlessly suppress a disgusted grimace as he held out a hand.

"_Bonjour, _Mr. Dursley," he offered. "Seigneur Sebastian Delacour. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

Dursley grunted and shook his hand, all the while eying his expensive Armani suit. Clearly this was a man who judged others by their means, rather than their motives. Not someone that Sebastian would willingly associate with to be sure.

"I'll get the drinks," simpered Petunia. "Please, Sebastian, do make yourself comfortable."

He was unable to prevent the very slight narrowing of his eyes at the rudeness of her form of address. In the circles he ran in, one did not use one's given name without permission! He said nothing, however, instead nodding and retaking his seat. Let them think they had the upper hand; they were in for quite a surprise.

It took almost the entire time Petunia was gone for Vernon to wedge himself into an easy chair. The man was four hundred pounds if he was an ounce, and barely fit! That alone would have had Social Services up in arms, especially since his son was just as bad! Sebastian had no illusions of it being a medical condition: the man was just plain lazy, and liked his food too much.

Petunia bustled back in carrying a tray of elegant faux-crystal glasses and a bottle of wine. He hoped she wasn't planning on impressing him with it: he could see from where he was that the bottle was indeed from a famous winemaker, but it was a particularly awful vintage. That batch had almost destroyed the business utterly, and had been sold off at an extremely steep discount.

He waited patiently while Petunia passed out the glasses and took her seat, noting that the woman didn't even know how to properly _serve_ wine! Sebastian was not a snob by any means, but as a politician he knew his stuff – and to see such a pathetic attempt at impressing him was actually rather sad. And they didn't even know yet why he was here!

"So what's this about?" asked Vernon gruffly, taking a rather large swig from his glass.

Stretching the moment, Sebastian slowly took a sip, and had to suppress a shudder at the taste. No matter, though, it served its purpose: he was in control of this meeting, and they could wait. Finally he set the glass on the table, hoping never to see it again.

"I am 'ere to speak with you on a matter of much importance to my family, Mr. Dursley," he said with utmost seriousness. "Your nephew, –" their eyes bulged at the reference "– and my daughter have experienced something that will 'ave grave repercussions for both of them."

Sebastian had chosen his words carefully, and was curious to see the reaction – but what he got was _far_ worse than he expected!

Petunia went white, and Vernon's face purpled instantly, and he surged up from his chair, disgusting ripples rolling through his great girth. "WE'RE NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR THAT_ FREAK!_" he roared abruptly. "WHATEVER HE DID IS ON HIS OWN HEAD! CALL THE POLICE! TAKE HIM AWAY FOR ALL I–"

"_SILENCE!"_ interrupted Sebastian harshly.

Silence fell, and Sebastian rose slowly to his feet, allowing his disgust for these people to show for the first time as he moved to face Vernon. He couldn't help it; to essentially disown the boy at the drop of a hat over a perceived slight, and with no investigation? It was appalling!

"Your nephew saved my daughter's life, Mr. Dursley," he growled slowly.

Vernon paled at the revelation, and slowly backed off to sink into his seat again, apparently having seen something in Sebastian's eyes that had frightened him to the core. Petunia, on the other hand, was just getting started: her face pinched like she was smelling something rotten, and when she spoke, her voice grated on his nerves.

"I'm quite sure you are mistaken," she spat. "That _boy_ tells all manner of lies! You would be better off making sure he doesn't corrupt your daughter with his freakishness!"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed further as he turned to study the woman, and a disturbing suspicion formed in his mind. In contrast to his feelings, he allowed a puzzled expression to appear on his face; he needed to get to the bottom of this, and fast! Once again he chose his words carefully.

"Freakishness?" he asked without venom. "What do you mean by this? Is my daughter in danger from 'im?"

"He's unnatural!" said Petunia shrilly. "You wouldn't understand, but mark my words, he will bring you nothing but trouble!"

As she spoke, Sebastian did something that he only rarely did: he extended his mind to cull her surface thoughts. He was a Master Legilimens, trained by the best the French Auror Corp had to offer, and it showed in his subtlety. He hated the skill – it was a violation of the highest order – but under the circumstances, he didn't see a choice.

The things he saw in her thoughts brought a sick feeling to his stomach.

The "freakishness" and "unnaturalness" she was referring to were, quite simply, magic! They were bigots of the worst kind! The poor boy had been raised by people who hated him for his very existence, and from her thoughts, she had known of it the entire time! It begged the question: who in their right mind placed him with these monsters?

"I see," he said slowly, giving away nothing of his thoughts. He sat back down in his chair, keeping a steady gaze on Petunia while Vernon watched him warily. "If 'e is so troublesome," he continued, "then why did you take 'im in? I am led to understand that 'e is an orphan."

Petunia snorted, and her eyes narrowed in anger, vitriolic thoughts flowing so freely through her head that he barely needed his skills to sense them. "You think we have him by choice?" she asked disgustedly. "He was left on our doorstep, and we can't escape his kind! They would find out!"

"His kind?" asked Sebastian skeptically, just to twist the knife.

"The freaks like him!" spat Vernon, finally having regained enough courage to actually speak. "They're a blight on our society! Bunch of useless beggars, the lot of them!"

Petunia shot him a quelling glare for his outburst, and Sebastian suppressed a smirk. As much as he hadn't wanted to believe the implications behind the Muggle hospital records, he _had_ prepared for it! All he had to do was enact his plan, and the poor boy would never see these people again. And once that was done, he could find out how far it really went and decide what their punishment would be...

Sebastian Delacour would not abide child abuse!

A shark-like smile appeared on his face as he leaned forward in his seat, pinning Petunia with his stare. "What if I could make 'im go away?" he asked seductively, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Would that work for you?"

Petunia narrowed her eyes at him, but her interest in the concept shone through. "I thought he saved your daughter?" she asked suspiciously.

"If 'e is a danger to 'er, then I must take steps to mitigate that danger," he said easily. "I am a man of many secrets, Mrs. Dursley, and one more will not 'urt."

Petunia stared at him for a long moment, and Sebastian congratulated himself on his quick thinking. He hadn't intended to portray the outcome this way, but there was no turning back now! This would seal their fates quite handily, even in the Muggle courts. It was an unexpected bonus!

Fleur was a good judge of character – she did little but observe thanks to her social issues – and she would have known if Harry was the type of boy to deserve this sort of treatment, which he clearly was not. There was no question in Sebastian's mind that it was in his best interests to get him away from here!

Vernon was wide-eyed, and the hope in his eyes was truly disgusting. Petunia, meanwhile, was developing a slow, cruel smile, her vindictive glee visible a mile off. His stomach churned that much more for it.

"Are you sure you can do it?" she asked conspiratorially. "They're tricky blighters!"

"I assure you, it will be no trouble," he replied honestly. Then he reached into his pocket and drew out a roll of parchment and a jet black quill. "You see, I am aware of what he is," he admitted, "and I know 'ow to deal with 'is kind. Just sign this form, and 'e will disappear forever. They can't touch you."

Petunia's eyes widened when she saw the quill, and then narrowed again as she listened to what he was saying. It was mark of how truly shallow they were that they took him at his word: they never even considered that he might _be_ a Wizard! Apparently they didn't think Wizards could blend in!

She grabbed up the form and read it, and as she did, her vindictive smile returned. Then she turned and handed it to her husband, who was equally as taken by the prospect of 'getting rid of' their nephew. "He's right, Vernon!" she breathed. "He gets custody and it's his problem! And if he gets rid of the freak, they won't have any reason to come after us!"

Vernon's smile slowly mirrored his wife's. "Yes," he nodded slowly. "Yes, I think that might be just what we need, and Dudley can have his second bedroom back!" Turning back to Sebastian, he added, "Where do we sign?"

And just like that, they signed the document, not once even complaining about the use of a Blood Quill! Sebastian was appalled! These people had just given up custody of their nephew based on the word of a man they had never met before, and worse, with the apparent assumption that he would be killed! It was only years of experience in politics that kept his rage off his face!

And then they grabbed their glasses and raised a toast.

"Now that that is out of the way," said Sebastian politely, "there is just one more matter to deal with." As he spoke he drew his wand, and the Muggles paled as he smiled a cruel smile, not the least bit sorry for giving them what they deserved. "Now we find out exactly 'ow you 'ave treated your nephew!"

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**A/N: You know, I never used to understand why people beg for reviews. Now I know better (though the begging? not so much).**

**So, first of all, let me say thank you. Where I expected loads of one-liners if anything, a number of you have left some very thoughtful reviews, and I greatly appreciate it. The only downside is that I suspect that this story will severely disappoint several of you. That said, I am already considering writing another one in this genre with much more in-depth plot and character development (and slower pacing; I've revealed an awful lot in this chapter alone!), so if you're very lucky, that might turn up sooner or later.**

**I really wasn't lying when I said this is a heavily-clichéd romp, even though some of the chapters turned out (IMHO) brilliantly, like that first one. :-)**

**Fact of the matter is, I've written 110,000 words (not counting stuff I scraped) in the last 9 days (and yes, I type disturbingly quickly when I'm on a roll). Probably about 20% of those will need to be replaced, and I still have to write the last seven or eight chapters (which are on hold while I fix a few relatively minor things). I currently have... let's see... 33 chappies, some of which are great, and some of which aren't worth the pixels they're printed on, but may get posted anyway if I get lazy.**

**Unfortunately, this means that while this has its moments, it has not been thought through as anything _more_ than a romp in the park.**

**But it's still fun for me, and I hope it'll be fun for you. :-)**

**This chapter is posted early as a thank you for those who wanted more and told me so. I know I personally hate waiting for the next chapter, especially in fics with monthly updates (if you're lucky). You can likely expect chapters every 2-3 days after this, unless I get on a serious roll and finish the fixes faster. Any more than that and I risk becoming a monthly updater when I run out of ready-to-post chapters (I only have the first few completely edited)...**

**PS: The fact that I cannot post greater-than and less-than characters properly really annoys me.**


	3. Amelia

**A/N: Wow. Thank you again for so many wonderful reviews! Just for that, I'll give you more Sebastian!**

**To the one who commented on Monsieur/Seigneur: I do not speak a lick of French, but as I understand it, Monsieur is a title of common courtesy ("Mister"), where Seigneur is a Noble title ("Lord"), not to be confused with the Spanish 'señor'. I could be wrong about that, and any native French speakers are more than welcome to correct me! :-)**

**I know I said 2-3 days, but your reviews keep me posting. Not sure how long I can keep it up, but I _did_ just manage to mostly finish a rewrite of a particularly difficult chapter...**

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**Chapter 3**

Amelia

Sebastian was pale and shaking by the time he left for the British Ministry of Magic, and it was all he could do to keep his stomach from rebelling. In all the long years he spent fighting depraved Dark Wizards as a younger man, he had never seen such horrors! He had some serious words for whoever left the boy there, and was bound and determined to get to the bottom of it!

The downside was that all roads led to Albus Dumbledore, and that was a problem.

But that was an issue for another day, however; at the moment he was more concerned about finalizing his plans. Based on the memories of the Dursleys, Harry truly was as good-natured as Fleur believed him to be, and her comments about his age suddenly made horrifying sense. The abuse that those despicable people had heaped upon him was extensive and painful.

Between his anger, his disgust, and the fact that he was sick to his stomach, he was in no mood to put up with bureaucracy today. He completely ignored the wand checker – a privilege few could get away with – and headed straight for the Auror office. When he reached it, he bypassed the spluttering secretary and made his way straight to the back.

He had been here many times as an Auror on foreign exchange, and was quite well acquainted with the current Director. While he himself had moved on to politics, Amelia Bones had risen through the ranks of the male-dominated profession and done quite well for herself. She was a fair-minded woman who was all about protecting the public, which made her the perfect person to go to.

He knocked on her door just as a young, flamboyantly-dressed Auror caught up with him.

"Excuse me sir!" she called. "You can't be in here without an appointment, I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave!"

Amused in spite of himself, Sebastian turned to her with a quirked eyebrow. "And you are?"

The girl's hot pink hair practically wilted in confusion at the question, and Sebastian wondered if it was a trick of the light. "Er, Auror Tonks, sir," she frowned. "Really, you'll need to come with me."

Before he could respond, the door behind him opened to reveal Amelia herself. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing him, and then narrowed when they landed on Tonks. Finally, she smirked.

"Do you have to give my Aurors such a hard time, Sebastian?" she asked him with audible amusement.

"That is 'alf the fun, Amelia," he grinned, genuinely pleased to see his old friend. "Though I 'ave to admit, your latest batch is certainly more... colorful." Smirking himself, he added, "I believe she chased me up three floors before she caught me."

Amelia snorted in amusement.

"Erm, you know each other?" asked Tonks hesitantly, and this time Sebastian was _certain_ that her hair wilted! It was now almost flat against her scalp, perfectly mirroring her nervous state!

Amelia nodded and resumed the stern façade that she almost always wore in public. "Auror Tonks," she offered, "Meet Retired French Master Auror Sebastian Delacour." Turning back to Sebastian, she added, "Nymphadora here is our newest graduate from the program."

Tonks went wide-eyed at the introduction, and he caught the edge of a wince at the use of her first name, which he filed away for future reference. It was always good to have a little extra ammunition about people; you never knew when you might run into them on opposite sides of the negotiating table. Outwardly, he just shook her hand.

"Take care of yourself, Auror Tonks," he said seriously. "It's a dangerous world."

"So what brings you here, Sebastian?" asked Amelia. "It's been an awfully long time since you've graced these halls."

The momentary improvement in his mood vanished under the weight of his purpose. "Business I'm afraid," he said, looking her in the eye and allowing her to see just how much he was affected. "Serious business, of a most sensitive nature."

Amelia studied him for a long moment, and then turned back to her underling. "Auror Tonks," she said formally, "Master Auror Delacour is permitted in the building at all times. Please remember that in the future. Dismissed."

"Yes, ma'am," nodded Tonks. "Good luck, Master Auror."

"Sebastian will do, Auror Tonks," he smiled.

Tonks smiled brilliantly back at him, her pink hair perking right back up. He had no idea how she could possibly do that, but had to admit that if he was thirty years younger and unmarried, he would have thought it quite adorable. But then, he married a veela, and really had nothing at all to complain about!

As she turned and flounced off into the bowels of the Auror office, Sebastian followed Amelia inside. He drew his wand and scanned for listening charms as soon as she closed the door, and then cast a privacy bubble around them for good measure. He did not like what was going on.

"That serious, Sebastian?" frowned Amelia.

"Worse," he nodded. Spotting a bowl on the counter, he added, "Is that your Pensieve?"

Amelia nodded and moved to retrieve it while Sebastian gathered his thoughts. They worked closely together in the last war, and she knew when and when not to make small talk, which he genuinely appreciated. Had he stayed in the Auror Corps, he might have tried to lure her to France on a permanent basis; she was very good at what she did.

He extracted the memory of his afternoon at the Dursley home and dropped it in the Pensieve, and then joined her as they viewed it. His disgust returned in full force as he watched the conversation from the altered perspective, noting that he wouldn't even have to admit to using Legilimency prior to the signing! They had verbally provided everything she needed to know!

She was pale by the time she exited the Pensieve, and he waited for the inevitable questions to start. And sure enough–

"Were you lying about your daughter?" she asked first, her concern audible in her voice. "Did someone really save her life?"

"It is true," he nodded. "I suppose you know what that means?"

Amelia shuddered. "It's barbaric!" she spat, "but yes, I know what it means. We really must find a way to counter life debts for veela."

"I do not disagree," he shrugged, "but we do not 'ave that option at the moment."

"I cannot believe those people would sign away a child like that, let alone a blood relation!" she swore. "Who is the child?"

Sebastian leaned back into the couch. He knew his friend well, and she would not be well pleased when she found out! The whole situation was a scandal of the utmost proportions! It could potentially blow their world wide open, and possibly even result in the deaths of far too many Muggles in misplaced retribution!

Sighing, he gave his friend a sad look. "That is where things get sticky, Amelia," he warned, "for the young man in question is none other than 'Arry Potter."

Amelia reeled back as though slapped, completely thrown by his revelation. Her cheeks drained of color: she, too, knew the significance! Life was not going to be fun for them in the near future, and he still had to explain everything to poor Harry on top of it!

"Please tell me you're joking!" she breathed at length.

"Do I look like I'm joking, _mon amie_?" he asked seriously. And then he drew the paperwork out of his pocket and placed it in front of her. "'Arry Potter is now my ward," he said bluntly. "We will arrange for a different guardian if 'e wishes, but it is my 'ope that 'e will stay with us." Rubbing his face tiredly, he added, "But it gets worse."

"How can it possibly be worse than this?" she yelled incredulously. "They just signed over Harry bloody Potter without a second thought, Sebastian! Do you have any idea what would happen if this got out?"

"That is the least of our worries, Amelia."

The statement brought her up short, and Sebastian reached into a magically expanded pocket in his sport coat to retrieve a certain file folder, which he handed over. "Those are 'is Muggle 'ospital records," he said heavily. "I used Legilimency on those _batards_ and their abuse is the cause of those injuries. 'ow this was not noticed..."

Sebastian left the statement hanging, and Amelia lost more and more color as she flipped through the file. He considered showing her their memories secondhand, but decided against it: they were far too disturbing, and they had work to do. She knew him well enough to know that he would never lie about something like this.

But that left the problem of how to proceed. The Dursleys could not go unpunished – it wouldn't be right – but nor could they let the situation reach the press! And on top of it all, the architect of the whole mess appeared to be a man who was widely considered to be the leader of the Light for the past four decades!

"I doubt that we 'ave even scratched the surface," he mused quietly after a moment. "Albus 'as a 'and in this, and I am afraid to know the truth, Amelia, but we must find out."

Amelia nodded and rose, moving to stand pensively in front of a window overlooking London. Sebastian gave her the time; he could use it himself. The sour taste in his mouth was one he had not experienced in many years. His heart went out to the boy, and he only hoped that they weren't too late to derail whatever the crafty old man was planning.

While it was entirely possible that Albus thought he was working for the Light, it didn't really matter: meddling in Prophecy was a dangerous business, and more often than not had catastrophic consequences. If, as Sebastian suspected, Albus was trying to ensure that the mysterious Prophecy played out a certain way, then he would likely doom them all!

Was the man really so full of himself that he thought he could control Fate?

"What did you do with them?" Amelia's voice intruded on his thoughts.

"Partially obliviated," he admitted. "They will not remember me, but they know what they did."

"Suggestions?"

"Muggle trial," he said bluntly. "We can take a Muggle recording of the conversation with the Pensieve, and enlist the assistance of MI-5 to bring charges. Conspiracy to murder a minor will gain them a long prison sentence, even if we do not press abuse charges. That should keep it out of our papers."

Amelia nodded thoughtfully, still staring out the window, and the silence returned. It really was an elegant solution: they had all but signed a confession, and they would get what they deserved. The oddities in the conversation could be glossed over as mental instability. It was an airtight case.

Amelia's voice drifted back to him again, soft and hushed with regret. "Susan talks about him sometimes," she said quietly. "Says he's the nicest boy she knows. She asked me once why he dresses in rags, and I thought nothing of it at the time."

"Fleur has said that 'e is quite 'onorable," he agreed softly, "and also that the school does not take care of 'im. They allow 'im to be ridiculed, and do not punish the students involved."

Finally turning to face him, her expression hardened, and a fire appeared in her eyes that he hadn't seen since the last war. Many liked to think that she was just an administrator, having conveniently forgotten that she was also a Master Auror! The latter fact shone in her expression just then, and he imagined that she'd probably kept up on her training; it was her way.

"This stops _now_, Sebastian," she growled. "I'll see to MI-5, and whether or not I can figure out what Albus is up to. You take care of Harry. I do not want him harmed in any way, including in that godforsaken Tournament!"

"I would do it even were Fleur's life not dependent upon 'im, Amelia," he said seriously. "That boy 'as never 'ad a life of any kind, and I fear what will 'appen if we allow whatever Albus is doing to continue. I will meet with 'Arry shortly, and we will see where we go from there."

Amelia nodded sharply. "Let me know if you need anything," she said firmly, "and I mean _anything_. I'm pulling out the stops on this one."

"Right now the most 'elpful thing would probably be access to the Potter Will," he sighed. "Albus sealed it illegally, and I 'ave no idea how to gain access without 'im knowing. 'E is also 'Arry's financial guardian, which will need to be changed."

Amelia paled at his latest revelation. "He's _what?_" she hissed.

Sebastian narrowed his eyes at her. "Is there something I should know about 'is estate?" he asked directly.

Amelia closed her eyes and sighed. "Only that it's one of the largest in Wizarding Britain," she said flatly. "Sebastian, the Potters were exceptionally wealthy, and extremely powerful politically. It's why Voldemort targeted them; he destroyed the entire family except for Harry." She paused to rub her face in her hands before continuing in a softer tone. "If we don't get it away from him," she warned, "then he controls enough that he can overturn just about anything we do."

Sebastian paled at this revelation. He knew the Potters to be wealthy enough, but he hadn't realized they were that powerful! Dumbledore was _already_ politically powerful, but if he had that kind of network behind him? He would be unstoppable!

"I will look into it," he said faintly. "There must be a way."

"See that you do, Sebastian," she said seriously. "I'm reactivating your British exchange commission. I'll slip it into the file when nobody's looking, but you'll have full credentials for your investigation."

Nodding, Sebastian rose to his feet. "Well, then, Director Bones," he said wryly, "I suggest we get to work. I will see 'Arry soon, but I should warn you that I must deal with Fleur's situation first. I do not wish 'im to think that we are trying to force 'im."

"And what if he declines?" she frowned.

"From what I know of 'im, 'e won't," he sighed. "But if 'e does, then we will understand and do our best to move on."


	4. Shocking Revelations

**A/N: With all the glowing reviews, it is _exceptionally_ difficult not to go add more depth to the rest of the story. ;-) I won't, though, since that would be a complete rewrite...**

**tumshie: MI-5 is involved because prosecuting the Dursleys is essentially a black project that only an intelligence agency can handle. They have to manufacture evidence that the Muggle court will accept, and tweak things to make it look it was part of a legitimate investigation. It's MI-5 that will end up engaging the Surrey Police, rather than the DMLE. Dumbledore would do it all himself of course (can you say "Obliviate!"?), but Amelia plays by the book.**

**And now, on with our story...**

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**Chapter 4**

Shocking Revelations

Harry James Potter, otherwise known as The Boy Who Lived, was rather confused. Earlier in the day he had received an invitation to dinner from Sebastian Delacour, who he could only presume was Fleur's father. It stated that they had important matters to discuss, but for the life of him, he could not imagine what those matters might be!

The only thing that came to mind was his rescue of Fleur during the Second Task several days prior. She was attacked by Grindylows numbering in the hundreds, and he just happened to pass by and lend a hand. It wasn't a big deal as far as he was concerned.

But beyond that, there was nothing. Fleur was nice enough after the Task, and her sister apparently adored him, but nothing about that should have interested the man since they were little more than passing acquaintances. They had no other dealings beyond the Tournament.

That said, he also had no reason to decline the invitation. In fact, he jumped at the chance! Ron was telling tall tales about the Task at every opportunity, and Harry was getting sick of it; he needed to be away from his friend for a while, and here was a ready-made excuse!

While the letter said it would be a casual affair, Harry still did his best to dress nicely, wanting to make a good impression. He was well aware that his wardrobe left something to be desired, but there wasn't much he could do about it. They had only ever seen him in the rags his relatives made him wear, and he hoped that he could improve their opinion of him a bit.

It didn't hurt that Fleur was a truly beautiful girl, and was clearly unimpressed with him. Sure, he didn't stand a chance with someone like her – not even counting the fact that she was three years older – but it wouldn't hurt to have her think well of him. He was more or less unaffected by veela now that he understood what they were, but he _was_ still a boy!

Suppressing a minor bout of nerves at the thought that she might be there, he straightened his robes and reached up to knock on the door to the Beauxbatons carriage.

It was only a moment before it opened to reveal a short, curvy brunette in Beauxbatons blue robes. She was probably Fleur's age, and quite pretty. But then her eyes flicked up to his scar and widened, and he lost all interest; he couldn't stand it when people did that, and it turned him off to her almost immediately.

"Er, hi," he said. "I'm looking for Sebastian Delacour."

The girl blinked and shook herself free of her momentary trance. "_Droit, de cette façon," _she said unintelligibly.

While he couldn't understand her words, she did motion him inside, so he took his cue from that. She only paused to close the door behind him, and he didn't even have a chance to take in the décor before she was leading him down a nearby corridor. The carriage was much like a Wizarding tent: much larger on the inside than on the outside.

There were doors at various intervals along the hall, rectangles of beige against a backdrop of light blue. Harry thought it quite calming, if a little odd. She led him to one marked with the number 42, and knocked; his nerves kicked up a notch, but he squelched them ruthlessly.

And then the door opened, and his guide scampered away before he could even offer his thanks.

Turning back, he found himself staring up at an older, well-built, very confident man. His gray-edged hair and intelligent eyes spoke of great wisdom, and his fine clothes spoke of wealth. Harry felt like little more than errant child in his presence, but did his best not to show it.

"Mr. Delacour?" he queried tentatively.

The man smiled a friendly smile and stepped aside. "Come in, Monsieur Potter," he offered. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Er, you too, sir."

Sebastian led him to a sitting area, where two chairs and a stuffy couch were arranged around a roaring fire. Harry was almost constantly cold thanks to his lack of body mass, and such things were more necessity than luxury for him. He accepted one of the squashy armchairs and allowed the warmth to wash over him.

"Thank you for coming," offered Sebastian as he likewise settled in. "And before I say anything else, I want to thank you for what you did for Fleur. You saved 'er life, and that is no small matter in my family."

Harry flushed slightly in embarrassment. "It wasn't a big deal, sir," he shrugged. "I just thought she could use some help is all."

The comment made Sebastian smile, but Harry noted that it didn't quite reach his eyes. In fact, now that he looked more closely, the man looked exhausted and tense! He had the sudden suspicion that something was wrong, and sure enough–

"I am afraid that it is, in fact, a big deal, Monsieur Potter," he said seriously. "But I can see that you don't know what I am talking about."

Harry blinked. "Sir?" he prompted bemusedly.

Sebastian sighed and leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin. His expression was far from unfriendly, but the look in his eyes made Harry want to squirm. He had a knack for knowing when something was going to bite him in the arse – which was most of the time – and it looked like this was yet another such instance.

In that moment, Harry badly wished that he had Hermione there to watch his back. He wasn't afraid of being attacked or anything, but she would have a better idea of what was going on! Should he have told her what happened in spite of Fleur's request to keep it quiet? He had thought it was because she was embarrassed, but now he had to wonder!

"May I call you 'Arry?" asked Sebastian suddenly.

"That's fine, sir," he shrugged nervously.

"Thank you," nodded Sebastian. "I do 'ope you will forgive me, 'Arry. As Fleur's father, this is very difficult for me to talk about. I want to first assure you that we will not force you to do anything that you do not wish to do, regardless of the consequences. Your life is yours alone to live."

Harry's heart began to race as he registered just _how_ wrong things were! One did not start a conversation that way unless it was going to turn out badly! He had to forcibly squash an urge to bolt, and ended up squirming in his seat instead.

"Er, okay," he frowned. "What's going on, sir?"

"Are you familiar with the concept of a life debt?"

Harry nodded. "I found out about them last year because someone owes me one, but Professor Dumbledore didn't say much, so I don't know a lot about them."

Sebastian blinked. "You mean to tell me that you acquired a life debt and Albus did not explain them to you?" he asked incredulously.

"He just said I might be glad it was there some day, whatever that means," shrugged Harry.

And it was a good point now that he thought about it! Why hadn't Dumbledore told him _how_ it would come in handy? He was increasingly tired of the way the man liked to dole out information in tiny little bits, when he could save so much trouble by just telling him what he needed to know! And now it looked like he was about to be blindsided because of it – again!

"I see," scowled Sebastian. Then there was a tense silence before– "I would suggest that we discuss that later," he decided. "It is important for you to know, but not for this discussion. Right now, what you need to know is 'ow they interact with veela magic."

Harry's brow furrowed in concern as an ugly suspicion popped into his head. "Did something happen to Fleur?" he asked suddenly. "Is she okay?"

Sebastian smiled a genuine smile at him for the question. "She is fine," he nodded. Only, then the smile fell. "But she will not be if the situation is not resolved. You see, 'Arry, veela magic is a strange thing, and among other things, it cannot peacefully coexist with a life debt. Simply put, it will call the debt due within thirty days, which will result in the loss of 'er magic, and because she is veela, 'er very life."

Harry paled at the revelation, and unable to sit still, he pushed up from his chair and paced in front of the fire, his gaze fixed on the floor in front of him. He did _not_ like the sound of that! Why had Dumbledore never explained these things to him? Not that he could have changed what happened, but maybe he could have done something differently!

Budding anger at the Headmaster bubbled beneath the surface of his thoughts. It had been ignited with his entry into the Tournament, but how much more was going to go wrong? Wasn't the man supposed to be protecting him?

Shaking off those thoughts and focusing in on what was important, Harry lifted his eyes to meet Sebastian's surprisingly calm gaze. The man hadn't moved a muscle, but even through his calm façade, Harry could see the turmoil behind his eyes, and couldn't blame him in the slightest. How would _he_ feel if _his_ daughter were in this situation?

There was only one thing for it.

"What do I need to do?" he asked flatly. "She doesn't owe me anything, sir. If there's a way I can help, tell me and I'll do it."

Sebastian fixed him with a sad look. "If only it were that simple," he sighed heavily. "You 'ad better sit down, 'Arry. You are not going to like this, and I would rather you did not crack your 'ead on the 'earth."

Harry couldn't suppress a snort at the dry humor. He followed the instruction, but his insides were twisting themselves into knots as he waited for the axe to fall. Never did someone preemptively tell him that he wasn't going to like something, so that meant he probably _really_ wasn't going to like it!

There was another tense silence as Sebastian ordered his thoughts, a deep hesitancy having come over him. It was an odd contradiction: he was a confident man, and yet he seemed so troubled! That could not be a good sign! And when he finally spoke again, his voice was quiet, and faintly pained.

"There is no way to simply forgive a life debt, 'Arry," he said, "and only two known ways of satisfying them. I think we can both agree that the likelihood of Fleur saving your life this month is nonexistent?"

Harry winced and nodded.

The man then took a deep, steadying breath, and Harry knew the end was nigh. He was desperate to hear the verdict – Fleur's life apparently depended on it – but he also dreaded it. It was surely going to end up being something horrifically costly from the way he was acting, and sure enough–

"The only other way," he said slowly, "is for you to take 'er 'and in marriage, 'Arry. The matrimonial bond would cancel out the life debt. As 'er father, I do not like this for obvious reasons, but I also cannot avoid making the request, because I would rather this than 'ave 'er perish."

The floor abruptly fell out from under Harry as he went over Sebastian's words in his mind, trying to make sure that he'd heard correctly. Did the man just say that he had to _marry _Fleur? No matter how hard he tried to twist the words, he could not make the statement go away! It was bloody insane!

He stared blankly back at the man for a solid twenty seconds, and then–

"Is this a joke?" he asked tonelessly.

"It is no joke," was the simple reply.

The silence that fell in its wake was so thick you could cut it with a knife, and for a long while Harry could not think at all. He was stunned! He had imagined some crazy ritual would have to be performed, perhaps with the risk of death, but this? This was– it was– He didn't know _what_ it was!

"Bugger," he breathed. Then he looked sharply up at Sebastian and asked, "Does Fleur know about this?"

Sebastian nodded. "She is aware," he admitted, "but she did not realize it at the time, I assure you. It was my duty as 'er father to approach you."

"And there's no other choice?" he asked weakly.

Sebastian shrugged. "Your may choose to decline, of course," he said with brutal honesty. "If that is the case, then I will not 'old it against you."

Harry surged to his feet, incensed by the calm delivery of such a callous statement. "But you said she'll die!" he snapped angrily.

"Yes," said Sebastian simply.

Harry's hands clenched unconsciously into fists as he stalked back to stare into the fire. He couldn't believe the unfairness of his life! He had nothing against Fleur – she was a beautiful woman, if a bit snobbish for his tastes – but to be forced to _marry_ her? It was wrong on so very many levels!

And regardless of what Sebastian said...

"No," he declared, still facing the fire, his voice ringing out in the otherwise silent room. "That's not a choice! If I say no, then I might as well cast _Avada Kedavra_ right now, and I am _not_ a bloody murderer!"

More silence was his only answer, and he turned to see Sebastian watching him with a tear running down his cheek. That, more than anything, served to cool his anger; the man clearly did not like this any more than Harry did. He had to give the guy credit: on the outside he was remarkably calm, and it was probably a very useful skill to have.

Harry wondered if he could learn it.

His anger finally abating, he sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair. This was a lot to take in, and he had no idea where to even start! And they had less than thirty days? Talk about short notice!

"What does Fleur think?" he asked softly.

Sebastian nodded his approval of the question. "She does not wish to die, 'Arry," he said honestly. "She is no more 'appy with this than you are, but she does not wish to die."

Harry deflated and sank back into the chair. He knew it was the right thing to do. He could not kill someone even through inaction; it simply wasn't a part of him. Vague dreams in the back of his head crumbled and died, but he ignored them as best he could; there simply was no choice.

Hermione was going to flip! She would be beside herself with worry, and probably rail against the injustices of the Wizarding world, which he could only agree with at the moment. Then she would run to the library and research it to death, but he was reasonably certain she would come up dry. Sebastian did not strike him as anything less than honest.

And when Ron found out...

Harry paled at the realization of what _that_ would entail! His so-called best friend had a jealous streak a mile wide, and it was a well-known fact that he could not get enough of Fleur! Harry often caught him staring across the room at her, though he never pointed it out. He could already hear the oncoming tirade ringing in his ears, and a foreboding feeling overcame him.

Closing his eyes, he tried to picture what the rest of the school would say, but all he knew was that it would be a scandal of magnificent proportions! Rita Skeeter would probably spin it as some sort of intentional entrapment by the evil veela, and the public would go nuts! Did Sebastian have any idea just how difficult this would be?

Harry couldn't catch his breath. Scenario after scenario played themselves out in his mind, each worse than the last. He was a celebrity, and the public loved to hate celebrities! Why was his life so bloody difficult? Why couldn't he just be normal?

And then a comforting warmth suddenly overcame him, and as his breathing slowed, he looked up to see a very concerned Sebastian holding a wand on him.

"Just a Calming Charm," he explained. "Better?"

Harry nodded weakly, and Sebastian came forward to kneel in front of him. "I am truly sorry, 'Arry," he said sincerely. "I know that this is difficult for you. I wish that things could be different."

Harry nodded again and put his head in his hands. Calming Charm or not, he couldn't shake the images from his mind! Predominant among them was one of him trying to protect Fleur from a mob of angry wizards in Diagon Alley. It was sadly possible!

But what could he do? How would they get the public to accept it? He was fourteen years old, for Merlin's sake! There was no possible way that he could see, and he hadn't nearly the knowledge to deal with something like this!

Maybe France would be better? At this rate, he would be safer there anyway...

"The press will be a problem," he finally said, his voice hoarse and hushed. "I don't know what we'll do, sir. They'll rip her to shreds, and I don't know how to stop it from happening."

Sebastian placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, and he couldn't help his flinch at the contact, though the man ignored it. "Let me deal with the press, 'Arry," he offered. "I 'ave a great deal of experience with them. We will find a way, I promise you."

Harry finally sighed and looked up, and once again noted the genuine concern in the man's gaze. He didn't know about Fleur, but her father at least was a decent man, that much he was certain of. If only they had come to know each other under different circumstances...

"I'll do it," he whispered quietly. "I won't let her die."

Sebastian stared into his eyes for a long moment, searching out the truth, before finally nodding and squeezing his shoulder. "Thank you, 'Arry," he said with genuine emotion. "Let us postpone our meal. You are exhausted, and you 'ave a great deal to consider. You may rest on the couch, and we can speak further after you 'ave slept for a time. Your 'ead will be clearer then."

As much as he hated to admit it, Harry had to agree that it was a good idea. His emotions were ragged, and he needed to let all this settle for a while. Maybe then he could find something positive about the situation, which was something he sorely needed.

As he drifted off ten minutes later, he realized that the most frightening thing of all was that he had to talk to Fleur.


	5. Change of Venue

**Chapter 5**

Change of Venue

For a moment when Harry next woke – he was disturbed by a very unpleasant nightmare involving Fleur and a mob of screaming Hogwarts witches – he thought that it was just a dream. But then reality came crashing down again, and he found it remarkably difficult to suppress the panic that once again threatened to erupt. He could only wonder: what was his world coming to?

For all intents and purposes, he was engaged to be married!

It was startling and unbelievable, and that was without the fact that his prospective wife was quite literally the most beautiful woman he had ever met! How was this possible? Some part of him thought he was awfully lucky, but he was mature enough to recognize it as his hormones talking.

He had no idea what was even involved in being married. The extent of his knowledge was that they would have to live together, and he didn't know her well enough to even know if they could get along. The list of potential problems was getting longer and longer, and he really wished it would stop.

But wallowing in fear was not Harry's way, and he soon realized that his best move was to talk to Sebastian about it at greater length. The man appeared to genuinely care, and that was worth a tremendous amount in Harry's book. For his daughter's sake at the very least, it was almost a certainty that he would do what he could to help.

With that in mind he opened his eyes, and was surprised to come face to face with a tiny veela, who was standing mere inches away, staring at him with a confused frown.

"Er, hi," he said thickly.

Her frown disappeared, and she smiled at him. "_Bonjour, 'Arry_," she said brightly. Then the frown returned. "_Pourquoi êtes-vous dormir sur le canapé?_"

Harry blinked. "Er, sorry Gabrielle, I don't speak French," he said bemusedly.

The little girl's brow creased in puzzlement, and then concentration. "Non... speak... Eenglish," she said haltingly.

Harry couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him. He had never dealt with children before, but had to admit that she was adorable as she stood there looking expectantly back at him. She was going to be a knockout when she grew up!

"Sorry," he said with a patient smile.

The girl frowned at him, and then looked furtively around before suddenly climbing onto the couch, and then onto _him_, eliciting a soft "oof!". Taken aback, he just watched as she curled up on his chest like an enormous cat. Not knowing what else to do, he wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling off and hurting herself.

With a mental shrug, he closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep, surprisingly comforted by her warm weight.

-break-

Six hours later, Fleur Delacour left her room in search of breakfast. She was aware that her father had spoken to Harry the previous evening, but had yet to hear the outcome, and she was very nervous. Then again, the lack of yelling was probably a good sign; she only heard one brief outburst, which was probably much better than she herself would have fared.

She could not even begin to imagine his reaction to finding out!

Were it her, and especially at that age, she would have been raging. The entire concept of arranged marriages was anathema to her – they had _never_ been a tradition in the Delacour family, even with as much history as it had – but that was essentially what this was! The idea of allowing some random man to wed her, let alone bed her... The mere thought of it made her skin crawl.

And that was essentially how it must look to Harry. If he agreed – which he most likely would thanks to that odd nobility of his – he would essentially be signing on to allow her to have her way with him. And unlike most boys, her veela allure would be no comfort since he didn't react to it. She somehow doubted that he was the type to enjoy meaningless sex.

Sighing and shaking her head at her dark thoughts, she wandered into the sitting room, only to spot a messy mop of black hair pillowed on the arm of the couch. Fleur stopped dead in her tracks: she knew about the dinner, but had no idea that he had stayed the night! He appeared to be sleeping soundly.

Curious in spite of her mood, she padded slowly and silently around the couch, and found herself staring at the most adorable thing she had ever seen.

There was a small smile lingering on Harry's lips as he slept on, and in his arms was the very recognizable form of Gabrielle. Her head was pressed against his chest with her ear directly over his heart, and the contented look on her face as she slept was almost awe-inspiring! Fleur knew the girl had a bit of a crush on her newest hero, and apparently she had come across him some time in the night.

The smile that broke on Fleur's face was entirely genuine, and slightly mischievous. Just as silently, she padded quickly away and retrieved her camera. There was no way on Earth she was going to pass up the opportunity! This was something she wanted to remember for a long time to come.

And maybe, if they found a way to make things work, she could tease Harry with it...

-break-

Harry woke about an hour later to the sound of Sebastian's voice. He was speaking quietly in French, and then – to Harry's considerable surprise – the warm lump on his chest responded in kind. And then it all came rushing back, including his brief foray into the land of the living, when Gabrielle crawled onto the couch with him.

It made him feel warm and fuzzy to know that she trusted him enough to sleep through the night in his arms, though he wasn't entirely sure why.

Sebastian was highly amused by the scene, but shooed the little girl off quickly enough. They then sat down and had breakfast in lieu of the originally promised dinner. Though it was obvious that the man had more to say, they only indulged in idle conversation through the meal.

And Harry learned quite a lot.

Sebastian, it seemed, was the French Director of Foreign Affairs. France's dependence on other countries for various magical commodities made it a very powerful position, and he was quite well respected, having held it for many years. He was considering a run at the Minister slot in a few more, but had yet to decide.

It was enlightening to have a conversation with a politician that he felt he could very much like, and he soon discovered the root of it: the man had once been an Auror. And when Sebastian discovered his budding interest in the career, he immediately started in on stories of his adventures. It was quite an enjoyable morning, even if it did make him have second thoughts about what he wanted to do with himself after he graduated!

Finally, though, breakfast was over, and Harry had little option but to settle in for a more serious conversation. He was no closer to accepting his new situation, and positively dreaded discussing it with Fleur, but he held his emotions at bay as best he could. Giving his full attention to Sebastian, he waited for the inevitable return to the subject...

...only to find that the man had other things on his mind.

"I would like to talk to you about something, 'Arry," he began. "And I would like to cast a Calming Charm upon you beforehand this time. This will be a very difficult conversation for you, but it needs to 'appen."

Harry's stomach clenched. What else could possibly go wrong? Outwardly, however, he simply nodded his agreement, not knowing what else to do. He felt that he could trust the man, so it was best just to get it out of the way.

The Charm settled him only slightly, as he was not yet upset, but he still felt it take hold. And unlike last night, this was a much more powerful one. In many ways it held similarities to the Imperius Curse, but without the commanding nature. That only made him wonder just how bad the coming conversation was going to be!

"Now then," said Sebastian a moment later, "I must first tell you that when Fleur brought her situation to my attention, I did what any good father would do. I learned as much about you as I could."

Harry nodded; he could understand that easily enough.

"Your records with the Ministry are quite strange, 'Arry," he sighed. "We will come back to that later, but to make a long story short, I was forced to look to the Muggle world for information. I knew that you lived there, so I went to their records for your 'istory."

Harry lost a bit of color at that revelation. His life in the Muggle world was no picnic, and for that reason alone, he did not like where this was going. The grave expression Sebastian was wearing was enough to worry him significantly.

"And?" he prompted warily.

Sebastian closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, somehow seeming more disturbed about whatever he was getting at than he was the previous night, which in turn disturbed Harry even further. What had he found? It was taking an awfully long time for him to order his thoughts...

"Your records raised some questions," he sighed at length. "I was 'oping that I was wrong about my suspicions, but I 'ad a plan to deal with the situation just in case, and it was a good thing that I did. And I want you to know, 'Arry, that I would 'ave done this even if not for the situation with Fleur."

There is no doubt in Harry's mind now that this was something major, and he suspected that he was going to enjoy this about as much as he enjoyed their last conversation. He couldn't yet see where Sebastian was going with this, but it was nowhere good! He felt himself tense as he prepared for the next great shock.

"Go on," he prompted slowly.

Sebastian took a deep breath. "I needed permission to inquire about the betrothal," he explained, causing Harry to pale in an instant. "I went to see your guardians, and as I think you will expect, their response was... less than pleasant."

What little color remained in Harry's cheeks finished its exodus, and he was very thankful for the Calming Charm. He could feel his body fighting against it, wanting to react to the implications of what he was hearing! Sebastian had spoken with the Dursleys, and nothing good ever came from speaking with the Dursleys!

"What did they do?" he asked faintly.

Sebastian studied him for a moment, and then, rather than responding, he reached into his robes and plucked out a scroll, which he handed to Harry. Even more worried now, Harry unrolled it and read – and shock rolled over his features as he digested the contents:

_By order of Magic:_

_We the undersigned do hereby release any and all claims on our ward, Harry James Potter. All rights and responsibilities are hereby transferred to Seigneur Sebastian Alexandre Delacour until such time as he reaches the age of majority or a further transfer of guardianship is issued by Seigneur Delacour._

_We hereby acknowledge that this document is a binding magical contract, to supersede any other arrangements concerning our ward. We do this of our own free will, and without coercion._

_So mote it be._

_Signed: Petunia Anne Dursley_

_ Signed: Vernon Paul Dursley_

Harry stared blankly at the contract, emotions too numerous to name flooding through his system. Did this mean what he thought it meant? Had the Dursleys really just signed him over, forever freeing him from their influence? Pale and wide-eyed, he looked slowly up at Sebastian, who was watching him pensively.

"You may choose a different guardian if you wish, 'Arry," he offered quietly, "but so long as I 'ave any say in the matter, you will _never_ return to those people."

Harry blinked and swallowed a lump in his throat, and was unable to prevent the tears from pooling in the corners of his eyes, where they slowly began the journey down his cheeks. It was his fondest dream! For so many years he had longed to escape the Dursleys! He had the strange urge to pinch himself to see if he _was_ dreaming...

His jaw worked soundlessly for a moment before– "Is this real?" he croaked.

Sebastian smiled at his reaction. "Very real," he nodded.

It took a few minutes for Harry to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the change this would incur in his life. He would never again have to sleep in a cupboard. He would never again have to endure their hatred of him, or be beaten for things his cousin had done. And no more serving as a target for Dudley's gang.

But what else did it mean? His life was suddenly open and empty before him, and he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to him now. It was so wonderfully terrifying! He might have a chance to lead the life he'd always wanted!

"Thank you," he whispered quietly. And then– "Where will I stay?"

"That is entirely up to you," offered Sebastian carefully. "If you choose to stay with us at our 'ome in France, we will welcome you with open arms."

Overcome with emotion, Harry allowed the silence to continue. His head spun with the changes of the last twelve hours. He had no idea how he was going to deal with this, but for the first time in his life, he felt a true ray of hope, and it warmed his soul. And it was all because of this one man, who had taken the time to see things as they really were.

And then Harry found himself wondering exactly how much Sebastian knew. Obviously it was enough to convince him that Harry shouldn't stay with the Dursleys, but how much was that? He didn't have to wait long to find out, though, because–

"Are you familiar with the art of Legilimency?" asked Sebastian quietly.

Harry shook his head at the seemingly unrelated question.

"It is, essentially, the art of entering another person's mind," he explained, causing a shiver to run down Harry's spine. "As an Auror, I myself was trained as a Master Legilimens. There is a companion art, Occlumency, that helps to prevent such intrusions, and I recommend that you learn it, but that is not the issue."

Harry felt a bit faint at the implications. Was he suggesting what he thought he was suggesting? The idea that Sebastian might know the truth was terrifying! What would that mean for him? How would he ever be able to live with the shame? He unconsciously gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles whitening under his firm grip, but Sebastian held his gaze and didn't notice.

"Legilimency is not something I care for," he admitted after a moment, "It is a serious violation of a person's privacy, but I was quite thoroughly disgusted by them, and concerned for your wellbeing. After they signed the contract, I 'ad a look through their memories. I tell you this, 'Arry, because I want you to understand that you need not 'ide it from me."

His countenance darkened as he explained, "I know exactly 'ow they treated you."

Harry's breath caught in his throat, and his vision dimmed slightly, even under the influence of the Calming Charm. His treatment at their hands was his deepest, darkest secret! He never wanted _anyone_ to know of that! What must Sebastian think of him?

And Sebastian answered in a gentle tone, almost as though he had heard the unspoken question – which he may well have done. "You 'ave nothing to be ashamed of," he said seriously. "On the contrary, I am thoroughly impressed with you. There are not many who can survive such an experience without losing themselves, and you 'ave done an admirable job."

Harry's jaw involuntary dropped open in astonishment. "But–"

"No," interrupted Sebastian. "It is the truth, nothing less. You were in no position to control what they did to you, and you did _nothing whatsoever_ to deserve it. I 'ave never in all my years seen such a clear-cut case of criminal abuse as that one. And they will _pay_, 'Arry. The process 'as already been started."

Harry stared back at Sebastian, completely dumbfounded. Sebastian knew about the beatings and other abuse, and it _impressed_ him that Harry survived it? And he even went so far as to free him from them forever, which nobody else had even tried to do! And they were going to be punished for it? Even Professor Dumbledore had never paid attention to him when he explained it, but Sebastian had done all this?

"How?" he choked out. "How did you do it?"

Sebastian chuckled darkly and leaned forward. "I think it no secret that they did not want you there?" he asked. Receiving a nod in reply, he continued. "I merely gave them the impression that I would..." His face twisted up into an odd combination of disgust and grim satisfaction. "...make you disappear. They signed the contract without 'esitation."

Shocked, Harry gaped openly at him. "You told them you were going to kill me?" he asked incredulously.

Sebastian snorted and shook his head. "I did not say that, but they chose to interpret my words that way," he smirked. "Using a device called a Pensieve, a recording will be made of the conversation, and it is damning evidence. They will be tried in a Muggle court for conspiracy to commit murder, and they will be sentenced accordingly. The Director of Magical Law Enforcement is an old friend of mine and is arranging it, but nobody else needs to know unless you wish to tell them."

Harry gulped as he tried to process everything. He was getting married to a beautiful woman. He was free of the Dursleys. The Dursleys were going to jail! It was almost like Fate was, in her own twisted sort of way, trying to compensate him for his lot in life. It was all too good too be true!

"What's the catch?" he asked in raspy voice, unable to believe that much good fortune so easily, even if it _did_ come with an arranged marriage. "There's always a catch."

Sebastian sighed. "There is no catch in the way you mean, 'Arry," he said reassuringly. "You are free of them, and will remain so. Either we will take you in, which I would 'onestly prefer, or I will transfer your guardianship to whomever you choose. It really is that simple. There are issues we will 'ave to deal with regarding why you were sent there in the first place, but it is my 'ope that you will not need to be involved."

"Why?" he asked, his voice thick with emotion. "Why are you doing this, I mean?"

"What you would you do?" retorted Sebastian. "Would you leave a child in those conditions if you could do something about it? My daughters think very 'ighly of you, as do I, and my wife will adore you. You deserve to 'ave a family, and if you will let us, we would like to be that family. I can promise you that you will never again be treated in such a despicable manner." Smiling slightly, he added, "And besides, if you do not change your mind, you will soon be family in any event."

Harry shook slightly under the gale of emotions he was experiencing. He'd always wanted a family, always wondered what it would be like to have one. He had imagined many times what it would feel like to have someone there for him, to see him off to school, and to welcome him home. To have someone to turn to for advice when things got rough.

To have someone love him.

He felt compelled to answer before he lost his nerve, but it was difficult to do. How could he possibly express his gratitude? The man had taken him in, sight unseen! How could he ever possibly repay that? But he nevertheless forced the words out, desperately afraid of losing the opportunity.

"I– I think I'd like that," he said gruffly.

Sebastian smiled gently at him and pushed up from the table, only to come around and pull him into a surprisingly warm hug. Harry stiffened under his touch – he'd only ever been hugged by Mrs. Weasley and Hermione before – but he could feel the genuine emotion behind it. His mind was in turmoil, and his emotions were so powerful that he could not keep them inside no matter how hard he tried, and he let out an audible sob for the first time that he could recall.

"Welcome to the family, 'Arry," he heard whispered in his ear.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you again for all the wonderful reviews! Now for a few responses:**

**Roxoan: Yours is the first good critical review I've received, and you have now earned a love/hate relationship. :-) I agree with many, if not all, of your points (Harry *is* dumb as a post in Canon!). The man/boy/guy thing was just a thinko on my part; that was how Fleur would have phrased it, not Harry. But the one I want to respond to is the French accents.**

**I hear what I write, so if I've heard someone speak with an accent, I can generally reproduce it in written manglish, but that prerequisite is a pain. It's been over a decade since I last heard a Frenchman speak English, and that one was in the States far too long to have a real accent. So yeah, flying blind here. And if that weren't bad enough, we have different vocal characterizations for the different characters.**

**Sebastian, for example, is a politician on the international circuit. He's been around the block a few times, and has adapted; his only vice is that he still can't pronounce his H's properly. Fleur, on the other hand, I've tried to keep somewhat faithful to JKR's interpretation of the accent. On that point, I officially hate you: your review forced me to spend gobs of time picking out all the Frenglish in Goblet and then fixing all my Fleur scenes! :p And yeah, some of them were truly awful, so I love you, too.**

**But then we add in that Sebastian actually makes an *effort* not to have an accent, and when he gets angry, things will change (most notably in chapter 15). Only reason that didn't happen with the Dursleys was because he was purposely trying to hide his anger. Otherwise it would've gotten ugly.**

**But if you think the accents are bad, just wait for the actual French! Go Google Translate! Any actual french readers are going to kill me, especially since, as one individual already pointed out to me, the one French line published so far is actually wrong! I probably won't fix that one, but I'm looking to work with the guy I'm talking to in an attempt to straighten out the rest, so hopefully it will be better.**

**Oh, and to the Bang Patrol (you know who you are): Yeah, I hadn't noticed just how many bangs there are in the story. I fixed it a bit in this chapter, and I'll keep an eye on it; thanks for pointing it out. Part of the problem there is the same as with accents: I write what I hear in my head, and bangs end excited statements. But yeah, I'll try to tone it down if it makes it harder to read, though I won't where it affects the character's mood in ways I don't like...**

**And finally, Mr. Romulus Lupin: Your review flattered the hell out of me. That said, I'm terribly sorry, but as I am presently gainfully unemployed (how's that for a contradiction?), I cannot afford to compensate you for your time. Parts of your review, however, did have me rolling on the floor, so thank _you_. :-)**

**P.S.: The lack of formatting options kills me. That contract (which, by the way, is not my best work) looks so much better formatted properly! I'm half tempted to publish the damn thing as a PDF when it's finished. :p**

**And now I'm off to real life for a bit. If you're very, very lucky, I might post another chappie tonight. So much for the schedule...**


	6. The Granger Grill

**Chapter 6**

The Granger Grill

With his head still spinning, Harry returned to the castle just before lunch and plopped himself down in the Great Hall. So much had happened in the last twenty-four hours that he didn't know which way was up. He felt like all of his anchors in life had summarily been uprooted, and now he was drifting.

Their conversation continued for quite some time after he got himself under control, mostly about what Sebastian had uncovered in Harry's records. He was surprised to realize that he had never considered asking about his parents' Will; he knew such things existed, but it never even occurred to him that they might have one. The fact that it was sealed was bothersome to say the least: he would really like to read it, if only to see their words.

That Dumbledore was his financial guardian was also bothersome, especially when Sebastian explained that he probably had a lot more money than he thought. The man was shocked to learn that Harry only knew of his trust vault when apparently there were others. He didn't have the specifics, but it was enough to make Harry even angrier with Dumbledore than he already was.

And then there was the Prophecy, which likely explained it all in some way.

Sebastian had no idea what was in it or what it was about, but recommended that they not bother with it until things settled down. Prophecy was perilous, he'd said, and sometimes just knowing one could change the outcome in negative ways. They would worry about it at some indeterminate point in the future, and he advised Harry to simply go on with his life.

For Harry, who had heard a true Prophecy once before, the result was indecision. Had he listened more closely to Trelawney last year, then perhaps Sirius would be free! Then again, how could he have known? He hadn't even known about Pettigrew at the time, so he might have done something foolish to his own innocent godfather! It drove home the idea that it was dangerous.

Beyond those things, not much was discussed other than an invitation to a family meeting so he could properly be introduced.

The idea of having Sebastian as his guardian was growing on him, but it also made him feel guilty when he thought about the Weasleys. On one hand, they'd been there for him for three plus years now, and he had the odd sense that they should have the right to take him in. But on the other, Sebastian had done one thing that the Weasleys never even _tried_ to do: he got him away from the Dursleys.

That was a huge deal, and the main reason why he agreed so readily. The Weasleys would just have to live with it. It didn't hurt that, to his own considerable surprise, he felt more comfortable with Sebastian than he did with Molly and Arthur. He couldn't yet explain why, but there it was.

"Harry?" interrupted Hermione's voice. He looked up as she neared the table, and her eyes widened when she took in his drawn appearance. "Are you alright?" she asked urgently, quickly taking her seat. "I was worried when you didn't come in last night. Where were you? What happened?"

Harry glanced over and saw Ron coming in, and shook his head. "Later, Hermione," he said, throwing a significant glance in that direction. "We'll talk later, okay?"

Hermione watched him worriedly for a moment, but relented when she understood his message.

He was dismayed by the hoarseness of his voice, but there was little he could do about it. Trying to cover his pensive mood, he turned to dish up, though he knew he wouldn't eat even half of what he took. His stomach felt rather smaller than usual today, which was saying something.

Lunch went by without incident, except that Ron was once again the center of attention with his overly-embellished tales of the Second Task. Harry scowled at him; wasn't this the guy who accused _him_ of lying about putting his name in the Goblet in the first place? It was awfully hypocritical of him!

They returned to the common room after lunch, and when Ron challenged Harry to a game of chess, he begged off for a nap. But rather than go to sleep, he just went upstairs and donned his invisibility cloak. Ten minutes later, after a whispered instruction in her ear, he followed Hermione out of the portrait hole.

"What's going on, Harry?" she asked when they were finally out of earshot of the Fat Lady.

"Not here, Hermione," he said firmly. "This is serious. I don't want it getting around."

Her eyes widened at his tone, and his point was made when they rounded the next corner, only to see several Slytherin students standing against one of the walls. Harry eyed them warily, but otherwise ignored them; he had bigger concerns than whatever they were getting up to. Hermione did not ask again.

He led her down to the lake, and they both found comfortable spots on his favorite rock. He was emotionally exhausted, and he didn't want to go through it all again, but he felt that he had very little choice. He needed her to know, and was in desperate need of her opinion.

And so, for the next ten minutes, he told her in reverse order about the things he learned from Sebastian. She was understandably shocked, but mostly took it in stride. When he mentioned that Sebastian had taken over his guardianship, though, she squealed joyfully.

"Oh, I'm so happy for you!" she burst, wrapping him in a life-threatening hug. "You've wanted to get away from those people for so long!"

"Yeah, I guess so," he said with a faint smile.

Hermione frowned and cocked her head at him. "...but?" she prompted.

"I'm happy, Hermione, don't get me wrong," he sighed. "It's just– I don't know them, really, so I don't know what to expect. And what about the Weasleys?"

She smiled softly at him for the question. "You have to do what you think is right, Harry," she advised him. "The Weasleys care about you, and they'll respect your decision either way. Is that what has you so down?"

"No," he said heavily. "That was the good news. The rest is bloody insane."

Hermione frowned, and Harry proceeded to explain to her what Sebastian said about life debts and veela magic. Then, after extracting a promise not to tell anyone else, he explained what actually happened in the lake. Her eyes widened as she listened, her jaw dropping open. He couldn't fault her for her reaction.

"But– But you're only fourteen, Harry!" she screeched loudly. Then, realizing how far her voice was carrying, she took a quick look around before hissing, "You can't get married! You're too young!"

Harry turned and speared her with a pained look. "Don't you think I know that?" he whispered. "What choice is there, Hermione? What am I supposed to do? Let her die?"

Hermione's mouth snapped shut, and her inner struggle was clearly visible in her eyes. Again, he couldn't blame her: he'd had many of the same thoughts that she was likely having at this very moment. Only difference was, _he_ was the one who had to live with the consequences!

"I'm surprised you believe this," he noted after a moment. "I didn't think you would."

A tear came to her eye, and she looked away. "I saw it in a book on veela," she said sheepishly. "I was looking into them because Ron's been so... so... so _infuriating, _staring at her like he does!" Suddenly she looked back at him, her eyes filling with horror. "Oh Merlin, Harry, he'll be impossible when he hears about this! No wonder you didn't want to talk earlier!"

Harry's shoulders slumped in defeat, and he drew his knees up to his chest. It was, perhaps, the second biggest problem with the whole thing! Ron's jealousy was a major issue – the Tournament proved _that_ quite admirably – and he had no doubt that it would result in another flare-up. He wasn't ready to deal with it, but he didn't see much of a choice.

"I know," he whispered quietly. "I don't know what to do, Hermione. You know how he is."

Hermione glowered at nothing in particular. "He'll go on about your _'perfect life'_," she spat. "Honestly! Sometimes I wonder why we even bother with him!"

"He's not always been like this," he replied morosely.

But he didn't need Hermione's sad, patronizing smile to know that it was a lie. True, Ron had been their friend for years, but all he had to do was look at how Hermione joined the group in the first place to see what kind of person he really was. It because of one of his careless insults, the kind he hurled with wild abandon at anyone he thought was beneath him!

And ultimately, even _that_ boiled down to jealousy! He was jealous of Hermione's intelligence. He was jealous of the people around him who didn't need The Boy Who Lived to make them feel good about themselves. Hell, he was even jealous of the Slytherins for the dark unity of their House! Ron was just plain jealous!

"He has, Harry," she said, echoing his thoughts. "We just didn't want to see it before."

Harry heaved a deep sigh. "So what do I do?" he asked rhetorically. "I can't keep it from him, but I don't want the whole bloody school knowing. Mr. Delacour said he'll deal with the press, but I don't see how."

"I guess you really don't have a choice in this, do you?" she asked plaintively.

Harry shook his head and looked away again. "No," he said bluntly. "She's as good as dead if I don't, and it's not like she set it up or something. Hell, I don't think she even likes me!"

Silence descended, and Harry allowed that thought to percolate. What _did_ Fleur think of him? She had been fairly condescending to him with the exception of those moments after he saved her life, but really, she was that way with everybody! Was that really who she was? Was he going to tie his future to someone who might turn out to be as annoying as Malfoy?

He shuddered at the thought. If that was the case, then it might be better just to commit suicide! Then again, he couldn't see someone like Sebastian raising a daughter that behaved like that, and it confused him greatly. Nothing made any sense!

"I think you should give her a chance," said Hermione after a while, her voice low and thoughtful. "We really don't know her, do we? Maybe she's not as bad as we think."

"Maybe," he sighed. "But you know my luck, Hermione."

Hermione huffed, but didn't deny the charge. "Just talk to her," she advised. "If nothing else, let her know that you won't let her push you around."

Harry snorted at the thought. He was not the most outgoing or self-confident person on the planet, and he was well aware of it, but he was certainly no pushover! If Malfoy couldn't get under his skin after all this time, then Fleur wouldn't either. Still, the idea of being forced to spend his life with someone like that _did_ rankle!

She was no Dark Witch, though, of that much he was certain, and that made all the difference. If she were, then he _might_ have considered declining, but she wasn't. And as much as he hated to admit it, she was trapped just as thoroughly as he was, at least if she wanted to live. And who didn't?

"I guess you're right," he said grudgingly.

Hermione sighed and lifted herself off the rock, smoothing her skirt as she went. "Come on, Harry," she ordered. "Let's go back to the tower, and you can take that nap. You look like you really need it, and we can talk more about this later."

"Yeah," he sighed. "Later."

**A/N: Personally, upon rereading this, I think Hermione would have reacted much more strongly. That said, I know you all want to see Harry and Fleur, so I refrained from rewriting it. :-)**


	7. Down By the Water

**A/N: Thank you again for all the wonderful reviews! And since the last one was so short, I'll give you what you've been waiting for! Though, to the one offering me a job, sorry, but I'm enjoying myself right now. I have no immediate plans other than writing and doing other things to waste time. :-)**

**Chapter 7**

Down By the Water

From her position at the Ravenclaw table, a very subdued Fleur cautiously observed Harry Potter. Far from the relaxed sleeping boy she had seen on the couch that morning, he was now pale and drawn, and very obviously troubled. She could not blame him in the slightest, for she looked much the same.

The Beauxbatons students had taken to ridiculing her behind her back over her dismal performance, in French of course so their rivals would not understand. But it was remarkably easy to ignore something that normally would have gotten to her before now: she had far bigger problems than some stupid Tournament! And she had no idea how to proceed!

As usual, Harry sat with his two friends. Fleur did not at all like the obnoxious redhead; she had heard the rumors he spread about his own friend after the Selection, and was well aware that he was now telling tales to anyone who would listen about how he supposedly helped to rescue her and Gabrielle. Why Harry put up with his lies was a complete mystery!

His other friend, Granger, was a different story. She was a self-assured girl, very intelligent, and was referred to in the halls of Hogwarts as "the Gryffindor know-it-all." Fleur herself had yet to see her display such behavior, however, and held out a modicum of hope that she was a better friend than the boy. Unfortunately, that was where her hopes ended.

The boy's lustful stares were not lost on her, nor was Granger's disgust with the situation. This was not promising, for most women despised her when they discovered the effect she had on their men. She herself despised it, but there was little she could do short of leaving the room!

She was certain the girl would hold it against her just like everyone else did. Would they get along? Would they fight? The last thing she wanted was to take Harry's friends from him along with everything else he was so selflessly giving up for her.

As to Harry himself, he glanced pensively in her direction from time to time, but otherwise ignored her. She was surprised to find that the reaction hurt, but there it was. Did he think her unworthy to be with? He was not like the other boys, and she somehow knew that her beauty would not help her in winning his respect.

To feel that way about a boy three years her junior was unnerving to say the least. This boy – no, this _young man_ – had defeated challenges that she herself could barely face, and had rescued her in the process! To do so at fourteen made him a truly amazing wizard, and though she was loathe to admit it, she was somewhat in awe of him.

Her father told her of his reaction to the news, and she was very relieved, but she also felt terribly guilty for taking away his choices. A surprisingly large part of her thought she should simply allow herself to die, because it was wrong to ruin his life like this! But she was selfish enough – and scared enough – that she could not bring herself to do it.

"Stop spacing out!" hissed one of her classmates disgustedly. "You're making us look bad!"

Fleur turned and stared down her nose at the girl, making use of every single one of her long years of experience. Rather than speak, she simply met the girl's gaze, and – using a technique her father had taught her – put on the most intimidating look she could muster. Predictably, the girl quailed, and Fleur silently went back to her Harry watching.

If there was one good thing about the situation, it was that he wasn't bad looking. In fact, he was surprisingly cute! If she could convince him to get rid of those awful rags he wore on the weekends, she suspected that he would be a fine specimen, and probably earn a lot more respect than he currently had.

Didn't he realize that perception was as important as reality? It was likely one of the reasons he was picked on so frequently by the students, especially the Slytherins: he dressed like a beggar, as though his appearance meant nothing to him. It was only his occasional self-consciousness – like at the wand weighing – that told her otherwise.

That, though, could be fixed, and if she was going to marry him, then she was going to help him do it. It was nothing vain on her part; it was merely that she wanted what was best for him, and saw it as her duty. He was a powerful figure, and unless she missed her guess, he had no idea just _how_ powerful he was in the eyes of the Wizarding public!

But that was an issue for later, and as he rose from his seat across the hall, she turned her thoughts to events that were much closer. In less than a month she would be married to a hero of their world! She was equal parts horrified and fascinated by the concept! She could only hope that he was as good a man as he appeared to be, or her life would quickly turn into a living hell.

There was, after all, no divorce in their world.

She was so lost in her worries that she almost missed his approach. She had thought he was leaving the hall, but no, he was coming to talk to her! For the first time in a long time, she felt her confidence all but evaporate: here it was, the moment of truth, and she would likely find out what he really thought of the whole thing!

Would he be angry with her? Would he yell at her? Would he demand things from her? The latter, at least, she was relatively certain would not happen; it was not his way from what she had seen of him. Still, she was unaccountably nervous about being on the wrong side of his temper after seeing him unflinchingly face down a Hungarian Horntail!

He came to a halt just behind her seat, and she was startled to realize that he was as nervous as she was, at least if the wringing of his hands was any indication...

"Er, hi," he said with a quick, faint smile. "Can we talk privately?"

Fleur stared in surprise for a moment before shaking herself out of it. "_Oui_," she nodded. "Of course."

He glanced over his shoulder at the doors. "Er, outside maybe?" he asked tentatively. "It's too easy for people to listen here."

"Zat will be fine," she agreed.

"Right."

Fleur followed him out of the hall, inwardly stunned at just _how_ nervous he was! They remained silent as they made their way down to the lake, drawing curious and speculative looks from teacher and student alike. That made her shudder: the fallout from this would be horrendous! Her father was good with public relations, but she doubted that _anyone_ was good enough for this!

He led her to a large rock overlooking the water, and she shuddered at the memories the sight provoked. That blasted lake was what started this whole affair in the first place! If only she could go back in time and change things...

"Er, I hope this is okay," he said nervously.

"It is fine," she said with a small smile to ease his nerves. "I am just not fond of ze water. Veela and water, zey do not mix."

Harry frowned as he crawled up on the rock and sat down cross-legged. "Why?" he asked curiously.

Fleur studied him for a moment, and found that his curiosity was genuine. Shrugging internally, and deciding that they had to start somewhere, she likewise levered herself up and sat down next to him. Her own nerves eased with the realization that he wasn't angry with her.

"We are creatures of air and fire," she explained. "Our magic is based on zose elements. Water interferes wiz it."

Harry frowned deeply and looked away from her out over the water as he contemplated her answer. His nerves were still plainly showing in the way his fingers worried at the hem of his robes; he was clearly uncomfortable with her. She had no idea what to do to fix it, either.

"So you were at a pretty big disadvantage then?" he asked eventually.

Fleur sighed at the memory. "_Oui_," she said quietly. "Zo I think zat your disadvantage is just as great. You do not 'ave as much education."

Harry snorted at that. "Maybe," he agreed grudgingly, "but I had help. I never could have done it on my own."

Fleur was shocked by the guilt that washed over his features, but something did not add up. As far as she could tell, he was not the sort to cheat! Drawing on every ounce of maturity she could muster, she forced herself not to jump to conclusions, even if he did seem to think badly of his own actions.

"'ow so?" she asked curiously.

A fond smile appeared on his face. "One of the House Elves is a friend of mine," he explained. "He turned up with the Gillyweed right before the Task started. He said he overheard some of the Professors talking and decided to help me out." He suddenly snorted, his morbid amusement apparent. "I fell asleep in the library trying to figure it out. I wouldn't even have made it if he didn't wake me up."

Fleur was surprised he would call a House Elf his friend – and then, as she listened, even more so that he felt guilty about it! "Zere is nuzzing wrong wiz zat," she frowned. "Your friends are allowed to 'elp you."

"I guess," he said morosely, dropping his gaze to his lap. And then he sighed and abruptly changed the subject. "Did your dad tell you?" he asked simply.

Fleur stared at him, taken aback by how quickly he switched tracks. It took some effort to get her wits about her in the wake of it. When she did, she also gave a breathy sigh, and leaned back on her hands, still watching him intently.

"If you mean zat you 'ave accepted ze proposal, zen yes, 'e as told me," she said quietly. Lowering her voice slightly – and unable to prevent her own guilt from coming through in it – she whispered, "I am zo sorry, 'Arry. I did not mean for zis to 'appen to you, and I cannot zank you enough for what you are doing."

Harry shook his head. "It's not your fault, Fleur," he said thickly. "It just is. I honestly don't know how to deal with it, but I can't let you die."

Tired of staring at his ear, and moved by the sudden turbulence of his emotions, Fleur reached out and caught his chin with one slender finger, using it to turn his head to face her. The intimacy of the gesture surprised her as much as it did him; she did not generally touch boys, because they tended to take it as an invitation. Harry, on the other hand, merely searched her eyes for sincerity as she spoke.

"Zank you," she repeated with feeling. "I do not know 'ow eizzer, but I 'ope we will manage. If we must be togezzer, zen I want us to be 'appy."

He smiled faintly at her. "Me too," he admitted. "But this– this is–"

He huffed and turned away again, his struggle for words clear on his face. She simply gave him the time; what else could she do? It was an impossible situation, and nobody had any answers! They were going to have to muddle through it, and that would take patience.

As the silence stretched she could tell that he was debating with himself over something, but what it was, she could only imagine. She had to admit that he was rather brave to do this; most men would have run away screaming, and the few that remained would have wanted to use her as a toy! But Harry? He was genuinely concerned, and she could tell that he would never harm her.

"I've never even had a girlfriend before," he finally forced himself to admit, his voice barely above a whisper. "What am I supposed to do?"

Fleur was stunned by his simple pronouncement. He'd never had a girlfriend before? How was that even possible? He was one of the most famous wizards on the planet, and the girls were lining up around the block to get with him! He could have anyone he wanted!

No, stunned was not the word! That he hadn't taken advantage of his fame with the ladies, it was a truly startling revelation. And unbeknownst to him, it made her feel vastly more comfortable with him, and raised her opinion of him still further. Though it also broke her heart that he would never have the chance to find love out in the world.

And if he was going to be so honest with her...

"I 'ave not eizzer, 'Arry," she admitted, her voice just as thick with emotion. "Ze boys, zey do not care about anything but 'ow I look. I 'ave never wanted zat."

Harry snorted morosely. "The girls only care about the bloody scar on my forehead," he sighed, "so I guess I know how you feel."

Fleur started blankly at him, and then – she just couldn't help it – she threw her head back and laughed. She had not expected this! She knew little about him, but perhaps there was a chance! If they could find a common ground, then they might just survive it intact!

As the pieces came together, she realized that, in at least this one way, they were very much alike. Both were looked upon as objects, mere prizes to be obtained by the opposite sex, and they both hated it. And if she was reading him right, then Harry, too, had been waiting for that special person to come along and see him for who he really was!

Not seeing what she was laughing about, Harry turned back to her with a startled and hurt look, but she just shook her head at him.

"We are quite ze pair, non?" she chortled. "Both of us are stuck, and both of us 'ave nevair 'ad experience wiz anything like zis!"

Harry snorted once, and then, finally seeing the humor in it, he started to chuckle. He didn't outright laugh – she'd never heard him do so, actually – but a lot of the tension left his body, to her relief. She wanted to get to know him, but it would very difficult if he was afraid of her!

And in a flash of insight, she realized that she was going to have to completely drop her public attitude around him, or he would be hard pressed to figure her out by the time they were married.

That thought actually frightened her. For so long she had only let her family see who she was, and though she knew that someday she would have to let someone else in, she had not expected it to happen so soon. But there was nothing else she could do, for he deserved to know exactly who he was marrying, for better or worse.

"We are, aren't we?" he sighed, distracting her from her musings. "So where do we go from here? Like I said, I haven't a bloody clue how any of this works."

Fleur shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, 'Arry."

Harry grunted his understanding and lapsed into silence, staring out over the water again. To her surprise, it was not uncomfortable: she could see the gears turning in his head, and knew that he was thinking hard about their situation. Really, his presence was quite comforting.

Though that probably had something to do with the fact that she felt so safe with him; being rescued by someone will do that to you.

Finally, many minutes later, he turned back, and she was surprised to see nervousness of a different sort on his features. There was a certain vulnerability in his eyes, as though he'd decided to let her in at least a little. And this time, his small smile didn't falter.

"Fleur, would you like to go to Hogsmeade with me next weekend?" he asked tentatively.

Whatever she expected him to say, it wasn't that. She stared blankly at him for a moment before shaking herself out her stupor and tilting her head as she studied him. "Are you asking me on a date?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

Harry ran a hand nervously through his hair. "Yeah," he nodded. "I just figured, you know, if we're going to get married, then..." He trailed off with a shrug, and then his face fell and he turned his gaze to his hands where they were resting in his lap. "I'll understand if you don't want to, though," he added quietly.

His complete lack of confidence was remarkably endearing. Here was a young man who already knew that they would be married in a matter of weeks, and yet he was nervous about asking her on a date? He was even more unassuming that she would have guessed!

"I would love to go wiz you, 'Arry," she smiled, causing him to look hopefully back up at her. "I am sorry, I was just surprised is all. I was not expecting it."

The smile that lit his face at her response was much more natural, and transformed his entire appearance. He looked so happy! It reached all the way to his brilliant green eyes, and for the first time, she saw reflected in them exactly what she was suddenly feeling herself.

She saw hope.


	8. The Family Meeting

**Chapter 8**

The Family Meeting

Harry and Fleur spent nearly two more hours out by the lake, and while they didn't touch on anything horrifically personal, it went a long way toward making Harry feel more comfortable with her. If nothing else, her lack of experience in the romance department was a huge relief! Neither of them knew what to expect, and they would be figuring it out together.

She also – very hesitantly – brought up the issue of her attitude, and he was surprised to find that it was something that she had purposely cultivated. Early on at Beauxbatons, she had not been able to escape the drooling boys and jealous girls, and was forced to push them away. She admitted that it had so far prevented her from making any real friends.

While it was not how he would have chosen to handle the situation, Harry took it in stride as much as he could, and resolved to keep an open mind. He did have some of the same issues – his scar drew more attention than he would have liked – but he could admit that it was different. The way Ron alone reacted to her spoke volumes, and really, it would be an annoying way to live.

As for himself, he didn't have a whole lot to tell her. He didn't know her nearly well enough to get into his life before Hogwarts, and there wasn't all that much else to say about himself. Apart from explaining how his friends came to be – she got a kick out of the troll incident – he had little that he was comfortable sharing. Fortunately, she seemed to understand.

It was back to classes after that, and as they were both behind due to the many practice sessions they held for the Tournament, they didn't see each other again until Wednesday evening. At Sebastian's request, he met Fleur at the Beauxbatons carriage, from where they were to take the Floo to Chateau Delacour in France. It was time for the family meeting, and he was desperately nervous!

"Are you ready?" she asked as he stood there staring into the fire.

Harry glanced at her and nodded, but couldn't bring himself to speak. He felt as though his journey through that fireplace would irrevocably change his life! He was no closer to accepting the change in guardianship – let alone his impending marriage! – and this would make it so much more... _real!_

He even dressed up for the occasion. What few normal clothes he had were horrendous, so he had little choice but to wear the same robes that he wore to the Yule Ball. Fleur was surprised when she saw him – the way her eyebrows leapt off her face said it all – but fortunately, she had the tact not to mention it.

And now, here he was, about to make the leap...

"Relax, 'Arry," she advised. "You 'ave already met Papa and Gabrielle, and Maman does not bite."

Harry flushed in embarrassment at being so transparent, and as he smiled sheepishly up at her, he was momentarily struck by her beauty. For anyone else, she would not have been much to look at in her Beauxbatons blue everyday robes. For Fleur, however, the effect was stunning, and it made him feel very inadequate, which did not help matters!

She handed him the pot without further ado, and he obediently reached in and took a pinch of the powder. And then, as he tossed it into the fire and watched the flames turn green, he took a deep, steadying breath. This was it!

"Chateau Delacour!" he called out as he stepped in.

The ride was nothing like he expected. His only real experience was the short hop between the Burrow and Diagon Alley, but this was something else entirely! Grate after grate flashed by, and it went on seemingly forever! By the time he tumbled out of the fireplace on the other end, he felt like ten minutes had passed.

He landed in an undignified heap, and silently cursed his seeming inability to handle any form of magical travel whatsoever.

Groaning in discomfort, he cautiously pushed himself back to his feet and tried to refrain from dusting his robes off over the beautiful white marble flooring. The room he arrived in was stunning. It was clearly an entrance hall of some sort, but even so, it practically cried out to him that this room alone was probably worth more than his entire vault!

The marble he was standing on was only a small square, perhaps four feet on a side, in front of the large fireplace. All around it was dark hardwood laid in thin slats, shined to a high gloss. Where it met the walls it gave way to earthen tones which rose up from the ground, only to change abruptly to a pale blue at the halfway point.

As his eyes continued upward, he saw a beautiful crystal chandelier in the middle of the ceiling, its facets reflecting myriad colors from the flames of the candles within. He actually had to pause for a moment as he wondered how they managed to keep it lit, but then he remembered that they probably used magic, and his eyes continued on.

Across from the huge, black marble fireplace that he had just been ejected from, there was a set of double doors that led deeper into the home. On the wall to the right was a much larger and extremely sturdy wooden door, not unlike the ones that protected the Hogwarts entry. The wall on the left was entirely made of glass, with a set of sliding panes in the middle to allow for entry.

Unfortunately, it was too dark to see what might be beyond them.

He felt very small by the time he finished his circuit, and then one of the double doors opened to reveal a woman straight out of a fairy tale. Her silvery hair, so very like Fleur's, was cut much shorter, falling only to her shoulders, and framed a delicate face with kind blue eyes. She wore a shimmering blue dress, which made Harry wonder if it was a family color or something.

She smiled kindly at him as she moved in his direction. "Welcome to your new 'ome, 'Arry," she said softly. "I am Arienne, Fleur's muzzer."

Harry swallowed a lump in his throat and bobbed his head. "Hi," he said shyly. "It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

The fireplace flared again before she could respond, and Fleur stepped gracefully out, which he envied. She brightened immediately upon catching sight of her mother, and was in her arms before Harry could so much as blink. He felt a pang of jealousy – he wished his own mother was there for him to hug – but squashed it ruthlessly.

"Maman!" she gushed. "I am so 'appy to be 'ome!"

Arienne gave her daughter a lingering squeeze and then gently separated from her. "Dinner is waiting in ze dining room," she advised, and then she moved over to put her arm over Harry's shoulders, forcing him to restrain an impulse to flinch away from her. "Come, 'Arry," she said gently. "Let us get to know you."

Harry swallowed thickly in trepidation.

As Arienne guided him out of the room, he reflected that of all the things he had faced – and there were so many – this was the scariest! He was in a strange country, with a strange family, and he had to get to know them because he would be living here and marrying their daughter! He was desperately afraid that he would do something wrong!

They passed out of the room into a surprisingly open hall, with mostly doorless arches leading to various other parts of the home. It was designed with the perfect balance between privacy and openness, and Harry found that he rather liked it. He caught glimpses of other rooms as they walked, and noted that while they were impeccably decorated, many seemed well used and loved, unlike the entryway.

Arienne led them through a door at the end, and where he expected a grand ballroom, he instead found a small, intimate dining area. It contained a simple oaken table with comfortable looking seats surrounding it, and a small door led out the other side, presumably to the kitchen. At the table sat Sebastian, an older veela woman he didn't know, and–

"'ARRY!" squealed Gabrielle.

And she was off like a shot! He barely had time to extract himself from Arienne before she barreled into him, staggering him and knocking him back a few steps. He instinctively brought his arms around her to keep her from falling and hurting herself, and his shock shone on his face.

"Er, hi," he greeted faintly.

The girl pulled her head away from where she had buried it in his chest, and her curious blue eyes peered up at him, edged with admiration, from under long silver bangs. "_Ai-je pour vous?_" she asked hopefully.

Harry opened his mouth, but then closed it again, having absolutely no clue what she just said – but the startled laughter from Arienne and Fleur told him that he'd missed something. He looked up and met Fleur's amused gaze with a questioning look.

"She wants to know if she can keep you," she grinned at him, causing him to blush. And then her gaze shifted to Gabrielle and her grin turned evil. "_Désolé, Gabrielle, il est à moi, mais je vous laisse lui emprunter de temps en temps si vous voulez._"

Gabrielle pouted at her, her lower lip sticking out cutely.

Harry blinked. "Er, do I want to know?" he asked tentatively.

Fleur smiled toothily at him. "I told 'er zat you are mine, but zat I will let 'er borrow you from time to time."

Harry blushed beet red, and came very close to burying his face in Gabrielle's hair to avoid the extremely amused scrutiny of his apparent new family. He supposed that it was good that they were joking with him, but he couldn't quite bring himself to fully share in their amusement. He was far too nervous.

"Come, 'Arry," offered a still-grinning Arienne, finally taking pity on him. "'ave a seat. Zis is my muzzer, Catarine, Fleur's grandmuzzer."

Gabrielle scrambled down out of his arms as they made their way to the table, and Arienne took her by the shoulder to guide her to a seat on the other side. Harry was neutral on that: the little girl amused him, and he wouldn't have minded sitting next to her. Then again, as Arienne leaned down to say something to her in French, he figured she needed a translator for the evening.

"_Bonjour, Grand-mère_," smiled Fleur, drawing his attention back to the table and the older veela. "Do not worry, 'Arry, she is not as scary as she looks."

"Thank you zo much, Fleur," snorted the older woman sarcastically. "You make such ze impression for me."

"Er, hi," Harry greeted softly.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, 'Arry," she said with a genuine smile. "Although I must admit zat I am surprised. I zought zat Fleur would date an average boy before setting her sights so 'igh."

Harry turned an even deeper shade of red as he respectfully held Fleur's chair out for her like he'd seen so many boys do at the Yule Ball. It earned him a pleased smile as he took his own seat, which he returned only faintly. To say that he was overwhelmed would be putting it mildly!

And it wasn't over yet, for Sebastian was already responding to Catarine's barb. "Fleur does not do things by 'alf, Maman," he smirked, "as you will soon find out." Then, addressing the entire table, he added, "And let us speak in English tonight since 'Arry is not versed in our language. I will not 'ave 'im excluded from the conversation."

"Thank you, sir," said Harry quietly, genuinely appreciating the gesture; one of his greatest fears was that he would arrive here and not be able to understand anyone. He'd even gotten a book on French out of the library, for all the good it did to read about the language; he knew next to nothing!

"Please call me Sebastian, 'Arry," smiled the man. "We do not stand on ceremony 'ere."

Harry bobbed his head in understanding, though he doubted he could break that particular habit so easily, and then a soft noise caught his attention. He turned to see several House Elves entering with platters of food, and smiled warmly at them. It was easier to be around the subservient creatures than it was to be around humans, and ever since he freed Dobby, he'd been quite partial to them.

"Thank you," he offered one as it handed him a drink.

The elf smiled happily at him in return, obviously pleased.

"So, _mon cher fils_, is zis why you insisted zat I come tonight?" asked Caterine, turning a curious look on Sebastian.

"Yes, Maman," he nodded. "There are two announcements that I wish to make before we eat tonight. One should truly be Fleur's, but I believe that she will prefer if I make it for 'er?"

Fleur blushed. "_S'il vous plaît_," she nodded, giving Harry a nervous glance.

Harry shrank back in his seat, already having a good idea of what was about to happen. His only consolation was that Caterine was the only one in the room who didn't know what was going on. Gabrielle didn't count; he somehow didn't find her all that intimidating, and it was amusing to watch her expressions as her mother translated for her.

His cheeks started to heat yet again as Sebastian rose to his feet. If there was one thing he hated in life, it was being the center of attention, and he had a bad feeling that he was going to be exactly that in a few seconds. He had a strong urge to crawl under the table and hide, or maybe have one of the elves pop him out of the room...

Sebastian gave him a sympathetic look, and then he spoke. "Before I begin," he said seriously, "I do not want anyone asking questions of 'Arry on this first part. The reasons for this are not pleasant, and they are 'is to tell. Do not pressure 'im."

Harry winced, but nevertheless watched as Sebastian's gaze met each woman's in turn. Arienne obviously already knew; the sadness in her eyes, and the sympathy that shone on her face, said it all. Fleur and Caterine, however, were another matter entirely; they both looked puzzled. Harry was actually surprised that Sebastian hadn't told Fleur, at least.

"Due to another matter that I will cover shortly," he continued after impressing his will upon them, "I 'ad occasion to investigate 'Arry's living conditions, and found them to be less than ideal. Arienne and I 'ave therefore agreed to take custody. As of several days ago, 'Arry is a part of our family."

Fleur was shocked, and turned to Harry, already opening her mouth to ask the obvious question – but then she seemed to remember what her father had said, and abruptly closed it again. She frowned worriedly at him, but he shook his head at her; he imagined that he would probably tell her someday – she was to be his wife – but that day was most likely a long way off. Caterine, on the other hand, looked completely stunned, and didn't know what to say.

"Welcome to ze family, 'Arry," smiled Arienne, drawing his attention to her. "We know zis will be an adjustment for you, and zat you will not be used to 'ow we act wiz each ozzer, but we will do our best to make you comfortable."

Harry embarrassedly bobbed his head in her direction. "Thank you, ma'am," he said quietly.

"Arienne, 'Arry," she corrected gently. "You will get used to it."

Caterine piped up next, finally having recovered from her shock. "Yes, 'Arry, welcome," she smiled. Then she raised an eyebrow and shot Sebastian a brief but suspicious look. "I do 'ope zat ze arrangement meets wiz your approval?"

Harry nodded and smiled weakly at her. "Yes, ma'am," he said quietly. "It means a lot to me, it's just–" He paused to close his eyes for a moment to steady his emotions. "It's a lot to take in right now," he finished.

Harry could feel Fleur's concerned gaze still lingering on him, her eyes still full of questions, and Caterine was not far behind. He hoped he wouldn't have to get into it; his past was not something he enjoyed talking about. In all honesty, he would rather put it behind him and never look back!

That said, their concern, and Arienne and Sebastian's sympathy, brought a warmth to him that he could not recall ever feeling before. Having grown up with the Dursleys, he knew the difference between feigned interest and honest caring, and it was the latter that he was seeing now! It almost brought a tear to his eye, but he somehow managed to fight his emotions back, albeit with great difficulty.

"We are a fair family," said Sebastian after a moment. "You will learn the rules as you go, and I am sure that you will not be disappointed. Fleur can take you on a tour of the Chateau later so you will be able to find your way around."

Again, Harry simply nodded, and graced Fleur with a brief smile, which she returned. He had a feeling that her concern for him would remain until she either learned the truth or managed to forget about it – and that thought did not settle him at all.

"The other announcement," continued Sebastian, "is equally as momentous, if not more so since it involves two members of the family." Turning to Caterine with an amused glint in his eye, he asked her, "I believe you thought that Fleur would date an average boy first?"

Caterine snorted in amusement. "'E is only one of ze most famous wizards in ze world, _mon fils_," she smirked. "You cannot blame me for my surprise!"

Harry blushed again, and Sebastian chuckled in amusement. "Indeed he is, Maman," he smiled, "but do I 'ave a story to tell you."

"Oh?" she asked with genuine curiosity.

"Indeed," he nodded. "You see, the Second Task of that awful Tournament 'ad an interesting consequence."

Caterine's surprised gaze moved to Fleur, who shifted uneasily in her seat. Harry had an odd desire to reach out and take her hand, but refrained; he wasn't certain whether or not she would appreciate it. At least Sebastian continued before she could get too much more uncomfortable...

"They did not report all of what happened in the lake," he said, his tone suddenly turning grave. "You see, Maman, Fleur was attacked by a large pack of grindylows, and 'Arry 'ere came upon 'er by chance and saved 'er life. In light of 'er veela 'eritage, 'e as also agreed to take 'er 'and in marriage so that the debt may be satisfied."

Caterine stilled so completely that she looked like a statue, and the only indication of her continuing life was the way the color slowly drained from her cheeks. Her shocked gaze traveled slowly from Sebastian to Fleur, whose cheeks were now stained a brilliant red in opposition. She stared for a moment, before–

"Is zis true?"

"_Oui, Grand-mère_," said Fleur quietly, and then she turned her gaze to the table in a strange cross between guilt and embarrassment.

Of course, that freed Caterine to turn to Harry next, and he, too, blushed brilliantly under her still-shocked gaze. He could not read her emotions, and that made him even more nervous than he already was. Was she angry with him?

"And you 'ave agreed to zis of your own free will?" she whispered.

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am," he said quietly.

Caterine stared at him for a long moment, making him squirm, and then suddenly launched herself to her feet. He thought she was going to run from the room, but instead she rounded the table and came tearing at him, and he instinctively flinched away. But before he could get his feet under him to run, she grabbed him up and pulled him into a bone-crushing hug that put Molly Weasley to shame!

"Zank you," she whispered in his ear as he tried desperately to control his reaction to the sudden contact. "Zank you so much!"

Harry remained stiffly in her embrace, with no idea what to do. He was genuinely grateful for her reaction, but also quite frightened by it! And then, to make matters worse, she manhandled him over to Fleur so she could pull _her_ in as well!

He had no idea how long the hug lasted, but it seemed to go on for an eternity. Unlike Harry, Fleur extended her arms around both him and her grandmother, but Harry could not bring himself to do so. His breath was coming in short gasps, and having been taken completely and utterly by surprise, he could not stop himself from panicking!

"Maman, you are scaring 'im," called Sebastian suddenly. "'E is not used to being 'eld."

Caterine suddenly let go of him as though burned, her eyes going wide, and before Harry could think to escape, he felt himself hit by a Calming Charm from Arienne's direction. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to stop the shaking fit that had overcome him so suddenly, and his face flamed in deepest shame over the fact that they'd noticed. It had been a long time since he'd had such a strong reaction!

"Sorry," he croaked quietly.

"'Arry?" called a deeply worried Fleur. "Are you alright?"

Harry nodded automatically. "Just– just give me a second," he rasped.

The room went silent, and Harry closed his eyes to concentrate on pulling himself back together and preventing the tears that wanted to fall. His emotions were going in every direction possible, ranging from fear over what just happened, to a great warmth caused by the same. He was very, _very_ confused!

Finally, with a great shuddering breath, he opened his eyes again, and found that everyone was exactly where he left them, and they were all watching him with open concern. Arienne was so worried that she still had her wand out even, though the tip was listing toward the tabletop. He took one more breath, and smiled weakly at Caterine.

"I'm okay," he whispered. "And thank you."

The relief that crossed her features was palpable, but – thankfully – she didn't comment on the brief episode. "Thank _you_, 'Arry," she said softly instead. "I am so very 'appy zat you are doing zis for Fleur."

"She doesn't deserve to die, ma'am," he shrugged.

"Why don't we all sit down," said Sebastian calmly. "Dinner is getting cold."

They all took their places, and Harry was relieved when Sebastian deflected the conversation away from him, instead explaining in more detail how the situation with the marriage had come about. He was still horribly embarrassed that something like that had happened on his first evening with them, but there was little he could do about it. And as he dug in, he reflected that the food, at least, was quite good.

Now all he had to do was make it through dinner.

* * *

**A/N: For a couple of people who have commented on Harry's lack of thought re: Sirius when he and Sebastian were talking: you have to remember that Harry was in shock, and also that Sirius is an escaped "convict" who has no way of taking custody, which Harry knows. Not to mention, there's precedent for him jumping on the chance, even in canon – he'd only known Sirius himself for what, an hour or two? And he thought him a murderer before that...**

**Roxoan: Yeah, the name thing is one of the hardest parts of writing dialogue. No matter how fast you type, it never hits the page at a real-time speed, so for me at least, I end up with lots of extra callouts. Then I spend several passes trying to fix it to make the conversation more natural... :-)**

**For the folks who have commented on chapter length: ironically, I usually go for 6-7K per chapter, but I consciously chose a different path with this story, where the chapters are as long as they want to be. The one with Hermione was one of the shortest. For some strange reason, they're averaging around 3200.**

**This chapter is not my favorite; and since I know I'll get comments on it: if I was doing this over again, I would highlight the stress my terribly abused Harry is going through much more clearly. The idea here is that he always has comfortable elements around (Ron/Hermione) to take his cues from when Molly swoops in on him, but there is no such comfort for him in this scenario. Then you add all the pressure he's suddenly found himself under, and a strange new place, and his fears are much closer to the surface. Had Caterine accosted him, say, at the Tournament, it probably wouldn't have happened.**

**Yay for all the wonderful reviews!**


	9. The Life and Times of Harry James Potter

**Chapter 9**

The Life and Times of Harry James Potter

As dinner wound down, Fleur could not shake the unsettled feeling that had come over her. When Harry was so nervous about coming here, she guessed that he was merely anticipating meeting her mother – a daunting prospect for most boys, or so she had heard – but now she was not so sure. His extreme reaction to her grandmother was, after all, rather shocking!

He was perfectly polite throughout the meal, and though his cheeks were stained permanently red from embarrassment, he said nothing about it. It was as though he was doing his best to ignore the issue and move on – which she could respect, but which also did not satisfy her. When combined with her father's warning not to question him, and the statement that he was not used to being held, the situation painted a very disturbing picture in her mind.

But she could do nothing about that at the moment, and instead simply watched him. While he was very quiet, he still made an effort to participate in the conversation, and that impressed her. The strain he was under shone like a beacon in his brilliant green eyes, but he ignored it as best he could, making a concerted effort to be friendly and fit in.

And if that was what he was made of, that incredible inner strength, then she was truly honored that he had agreed to marry her!

It was a very odd concept, but she doubted that she could have picked another that she would rather be with in this situation. It wasn't his looks, or his money, or even his personality per se; it was his sense of nobility. If there was one thing she knew, it was that he would _never_ take advantage of her, and that was worth a tremendous amount!

She _was_, however, worried about his issues with physical contact. Apart from her family, she herself did not generally allow others to touch her, but there were reasons for that – most notably that boys tended to take it as an invitation for something more. It did not change that she did, in fact, desire that sort of thing!

Would he be able to give that to her? Would he ever be comfortable enough that she could touch him without triggering a negative reaction, and that he would return the gesture in kind? If not, then she would not be terribly happy, not that she could blame him for the problem if her suspicions were correct.

The only thing she could think to do was to test the waters. Her grandmother had accosted him in a rather sudden manner, and that could have had something to do with it. Perhaps if she started slowly and cautiously, she could get him used to the idea...

"Fleur? Are you coming?"

Snapped out of her reverie by her father's call, she focused back on the here and now, and was startled to find everyone rising from the table. Harry was watching her curiously, though she suspected that he understood what had just happened. He, too, had spaced out on several different occasions this night.

"Sorry, Papa," she said sheepishly as she rose gracefully to her feet. "My mind was wandering."

Her father nodded understandingly. "Come," he smiled. "We will retire to the living room. I 'ave an idea that may be a fun way for us to get to know 'Arry, and I do not think you will want to miss it."

The puzzled and nervous look on Harry's face made her smile. She had an idea of where her father was going with this, and she was certain that Harry would agree to it. And he was right: it would be an excellent way for them to get to know him better! Remembering her earlier idea, she held out her hand to him and smiled, hoping that he might take it.

He glanced warily at it – he was obviously still out of sorts – but then he gathered his courage and reached out. She smiled as she felt his hand slip into hers, and gave it a gentle squeeze. He smiled faintly back at her, but his fidgeting told her that he had no idea what to do with himself in a situation such as this.

That thought brought a faintly amused smirk to her lips, though she hid it quickly.

Without another word she led him out of the dining room and back down the hall. Like their family dining area, the living room was cozy, unlike much of the rest of the Chateau. The place was built to impress, and only in recent generations had it truly become a home.

A trio of squashy couches surrounded a low glass coffee table in this room, all riding above plush white carpet. Fleur led Harry to the couch to the right of the grate, where a low fire burned merrily away. He glanced bemusedly at her as they sat down, but she just smiled reassuringly and gave his hand another squeeze.

Puzzled by it, he studied her for a long moment, but to his credit, he did not snatch his hand away.

Soon everyone was seated, and while her mother called upon one of the elves to bring more refreshments, her father retrieved a large, ornate stone bowl from a nearby shelf and set it in the middle of the coffee table. "Alright, 'Arry," he smiled. "This is completely voluntary, but I think we will all enjoy it. 'ave you seen one of these before?"

Harry merely shook his head, intent on studying the bowl with his eyes.

"This is a Pensieve," explained her father. "It allows us to view the memories of others. What I propose is that you select several good memories that you would like to share with us, and we will watch them together. It is an excellent way of learning about each other."

Harry unconsciously tightened his grip on Fleur's hand out of nerves, and yet his eyes shone with childlike curiosity. His inner struggle was plain: he wanted to see this miracle, but he was uncertain what he could show them! After his reticence in their conversation by the lake, she was not entirely surprised.

That conversation had gone well, but it also made it eminently clear that Harry Potter did not trust easily. He held his cards close to his chest, to use the Muggle phrase, and she sincerely doubted that even his friends knew nearly everything about him. If what she now suspected about his home life was true, then this was not a terribly surprising outcome.

"Er, what do you want to see?" he asked tentatively.

"'ow about ze First Task?" suggested her mother. "We were unable to see it personally, and we 'ave only Fleur's memory of 'er own performance."

His grip loosened at the mention of a relatively safe subject. "Okay," he smiled. "How does this work?"

It only took a few minutes for her father to teach him how to extract the memory, and then they promptly dove in. Harry's look of amazement was priceless, and earned him another squeeze; she was pleased to see that he hadn't let go, even as they fell inside! And this time, he squeezed back and smiled shyly up at her. She was making progress!

And then the memory began to unfold, and Fleur forgot all about it.

To say that he was an impressive flier would be one of the biggest understatements she could imagine. The way he teased the dragon, ducking and dodging terrifying fountains of flame, was absolutely unreal! He really _should_ have come in first, as this was very impressive for someone his age, and he was the least injured of the lot when it was over.

As they returned to their seats, she found him blushing in embarrassed pleasure at the amazed looks everyone was giving him, herself included. She had only seen his attempt from afar, and seeing it up close made her respect his abilities all the more. He really _was_ going to be an amazing wizard some day!

"That was quite impressive, 'Arry," breathed Sebastian. "And Fleur was right, you should 'ave 'ad first place for that!"

Harry's blush deepened, and he gave a modest shrug at the compliment.

"You are a wonderful flier," agreed Fleur, smiling down at him. "Per'aps we could see one of your Quidditch matches?"

Harry smiled and nodded, and then his brow furrowed in thought as he figured out what to show them. She really _did_ want to see him flying again: even facing a dragon, he had looked so peaceful in the air, that she wanted to see if it was a fluke. Fleur had always been partial to brooms herself – she was a creature of air, after all – and though she was nowhere near his level, she would not mind flying with him some time.

Finally he extracted another memory and placed it in the bowl. "This is a match from my second year," he explained quietly. "It's... interesting."

Moments later they fell into the Pensieve and watched as a smaller Harry rode out to the field on his broom – and the game that followed was truly impressive. The look on his face during the First Task was not just a fluke: Harry was a natural in the air, almost like it was simply where he belonged. Half the time he dodged Bludgers without even looking!

They watched for a few more minutes, before– "What is wrong wiz zat Bludger?" she asked curiously. "Zey are not supposed to do zat."

Harry snorted, and his eyes developed a slight twinkle. "Remember that House Elf I mentioned the other day?" he asked, his voice still quiet, but his good humor clearly audible. Fleur nodded, and he continued. "This is the year I met him," he explained. "He was trying to protect me from something, and figured if I got hurt in the game that I would leave the school."

Everyone turned to stare at him.

"So 'e enchanted a Bludger to hunt you?" asked Fleur incredulously. "And you call 'im your friend?"

"He meant well," he shrugged, his eyes still on the game going on around them. "Dobby is just a bit... overenthusiastic. I made him promise not to save my life anymore."

Fleur snorted in morbid amusement at the concept.

"What was 'e protecting you from?" asked her father curiously.

Harry's expression dimmed. "Lucius Malfoy gave someone an enchanted diary," he explained. "It possessed her, and made her let a basilisk out that was hidden in the school." Frowning deeply, he added, "A lot of students were petrified. We were lucky nobody died."

A shocked silence ensued, only interrupted by the various sounds of the game that continued unabated, as nobody thought to pause the memory.

"A basilisk?" echoed Fleur faintly.

"In a _school?_" breathed Caterine.

"What 'appened to it?" asked Arienne curiously.

To Fleur's utter shock, Harry turned crimson at the latter question, his grip on her hand tightening once more. "I, er, kinda killed it," he said sheepishly.

Another shocked silence, and then–

"Non," said Caterine firmly. "Zis I do not believe."

Harry took no notice of the slight against his honor, and instead just shrugged. "I can show you if you want," he suggested tentatively. "Er, if it's safe to do in here, anyway. They can kill by looking at you."

"Zere is no magic in ze memories," said Arienne faintly. "It would not be dangerous."

"I would like to see that," agreed Sebastian.

Fleur remained silent, stunned by the revelation. If there was one thing she had discovered about Harry by watching and listening to him over the past months, it was that he was anything but a liar! He had killed a basilisk, which very few wizards could say!

Another piece of the disturbing puzzle fell into place. Between that and the Tournament – and not counting the amusing anecdote he told about the troll in his first year – that made at least three life-and-death situations that she was aware of. Hogwarts was supposed to be a school! What what was going on there?

"Oh, here's the good part," he suddenly smiled.

Fleur looked up in time to see the enchanted Bludger smash into his elbow – clearly breaking it – but the Harry in the memory ignored the pain and dove after the snitch, which he caught before landing and passing out. It was a truly impressive catch, and to do it while handling that kind of pain? She was rapidly being forced to upward revise her already high opinion of her husband-to-be!

Finally they were once again in the real world, and the reactions this time were mixed, with everyones' mind on the basilisk rather than the game they just witnessed. Fleur decided that wasn't a good thing; he would show them in due time, but didn't need any more pressure than he had already endured this night. He was being remarkably patient with them, and there was no reason to push.

"Zat was very impressive," she smiled at him.

"Thanks," came his quiet reply, along with another modest shrug. "I have more if you want to see them. I've only ever lost one game, and that was only because Dementors invaded the pitch."

"_Dementors?_" breathed her father. "At the school?"

He winced. "Yes sir," he nodded. "They were looking for my–"

Harry broke off suddenly, and his gaze went distant, causing Fleur to frown; the tension in his grip increased dramatically, and it was... _different_, somehow. The look in his eyes was no longer the shy, gentle one that had been present for most of the night: now there was a startling intensity there. Then his gaze once again locked on her father, as though to weigh how much he could trust the man.

"'Arry?" prompted Sebastian cautiously after a moment.

Harry took a deep breath, never breaking his gaze. "Do you know about my godfather, sir?" he asked, his tone more serious than she had yet heard it.

Her father narrowed his eyes in thought. "Sirius Black, I believe," he slowly recollected. "Wanted for the betrayal of your parents, and the mass-murder of a number–."

"He's innocent," interrupted Harry. "He never had a trial, sir. Peter Pettigrew betrayed my parents and framed him. I've met them both, and Pettigrew admitted it, but Minister Fudge wouldn't believe us. I can show you."

He was almost pleading at the end, and desperation was suddenly leaking from him in waves. His grip on her hand was almost painfully tight, and she shook herself free of it, startling him into giving her an apologetic look. But drawn by what she was sensing from him, she reached out to him, gently placing her hand on the back of his neck to comfort him.

He blinked bemusedly at her for a moment before turning back to the conversation.

"I would very much like to see that memory," said Sebastian seriously.

Harry's only response was to draw his wand and extract it. It took but a moment for him to recall and draw it out, and then he placed it in the bowl with great caution. He closed his eyes for a long moment and took a deep breath, and then nodded. Not a word was spoken as they leaned in.

The memory began in a shabby building, and they watched silently as the scene unfolded. She was startled by the hatred in Harry's eyes as he initially attacked Black; it was an emotion she had not expected of him. It cleared quickly, though, and quite fortunately as it turned out. There were gasps as Pettigrew appeared, and a shocked silence as they listened to him confessing his crimes, even if it _was_ under duress!

And then they watched as it all fell apart.

Fleur's head spun as she sat there on the couch digesting what she had just seen. His only family was on the run, having escaped illegal imprisonment, and was under threat of the Dementor's Kiss from the Ministry of Magic! It was appalling! And it was beyond clear that Harry cared deeply for the man.

Harry himself sat quietly next to her, waiting nervously for their reactions. She once again reached out to him and gently caressed the back of his neck, which made him turn toward her. The pain she saw hidden in his eyes was incredibly potent, but his nerves were at the forefront.

She smiled a gentle smile at him, trying to silently convey that she believed him.

"This changes things," mused her father after a while. "'Arry, may I 'ave that memory? I would like to show it to Madame Bones."

"I'll do anything to help Sirius, sir," he responded with quiet conviction.

"Do not despair," urged Sebastian. "Now that I am aware of this, I can take steps to correct the injustice. And in the mean time, it is very likely that France will offer 'im asylum if 'e is willing to answer the charges under Veritaserum, which I believe 'e most likely will."

"They would do that?" asked Harry hopefully.

"I believe so. I will look into it tomorrow and inform you when I 'ave an answer."

"Thank you," whispered Harry emotionally, clearly overwhelmed.

Her father leaned over and gently placed a hand on his knee. "This is what family is, 'Arry," he said seriously. "This is what family does. You are not alone anymore, and we will 'elp you 'owever we can, just as you would 'elp us."

Tears came to Harry's eyes, and he nodded slightly, a faint smile indicating his thanks, but he was too overwhelmed with emotion to do anything else. For all of his strength, he appeared so fragile at that moment that Fleur's heart broke for him. What had this young man been through? And had he truly had nobody to help him through it?

It was dangerous, but Fleur didn't care: she cautiously leaned in and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug, and – to her considerable surprise – she felt his arms come around her in return. Something intangible passed between them in that moment, and she knew then that her fears were unfounded. While he was hesitant about physical contact, it could definitely be overcome.

"I vote we move on if 'Arry is up to it," said Caterine softly into the silence. And with a wry smile she added, "I for one would very much like to see my newest grandson prove to me zat 'e slew a basilisk."

That teased laughter out of the group, all except for Harry – but he did grin at her, which Fleur was learning was almost as good coming from him. He was a very complex person, but she was finding that he was much simpler than he often appeared. She sensed that she was still missing important pieces of the puzzle, but very much hoped that she would soon have enough of a picture to understand him.

* * *

**A/N: Wow! I'm surprised y'all liked the last one so much :-) Thank you, you guys are making this worth doing! Now I get to see if you like this one, too; they were written as a pair, so my opinion of them is more or less the same. :-)**

**On the subject of Arienne's name (sorry, I forgot who you were): I've seen Appolline(sp?) used in fanfic a lot, but I honestly don't know if it's canon. If it is, then I suspect it was in DH, which I only read once when it came out. My excuse from now on is going to be that this is canon up until the second task, and after that all bets are off (though I'm using lots of elements). :-)**

**Now, I swore I was never going to do this beyond a couple of comments at a time because it inflates the word count, but there were lots of interesting points that I wanted to respond individually to. And so, without further ado:**

**stonerkenobi7: He's an abused kid *shrug*. I always thought that even if there was no physical abuse involved, Harry should have reacted more strongly in the books, so that's how I write him. I don't see him as being socialized as a child from what JKR has shown us, so it would likely be overwhelming. As to this story, I mostly use it for my own amusement in the interactions between him and Fleur; just another thing she has to overcome with him. And as to the rest, you'll just have to wait and see. :-)**

**hushpuppy22: If you want to see canon Ron and Hermione, there's this series of seven books I can recommend... Seriously, though, I've adjusted their characters just as I've adjusted Harry and Fleur. Hermione is a bit softer, yes, and while she's still a bit of a know-it-all, Fleur hasn't been in the castle enough to see it (I'm assuming they're having classes in the carriage). As for Ron, apart from a major issue that comes up later in the story, I don't think I'm all that far off canon, to be honest. He isn't going to magically stop being jealous, and he does have a thing for Fleur, and boys are awfully funny about girls as it is...**

**... Frankly, given the lack of growth in those characters, I think JKR's portrayal was a bit shallow anyway. Plus, if I'm Harry and my "best friend" runs out on me _in the middle of a flipping war _like Ron did in DH... 'nuf said. **** Canon Hermione is either desperate or has a screw loose, to say nothing of Harry.**

**... But in the end, all that matters is that if I accepted everything JKR did as being written in stone, then I wouldn't be writing fanfic, now would I?**

**Maddog285: Sorry, but I like forcing the reader to feel Harry's confusion, so the French will show up from time to time. :)**

**Scandinavian Snapper: Harry doesn't know what he has beyond what he's seen, since Sebastian doesn't either. His family was wealthy, yes, but for all he knows at the moment they could have left it all to Remus. As to future events, sorry, but you'll have to keep reading... :)**

**oldgreyone: I'll check that out, thanks.**

**Zicou: Wholeheartedly agree on that one. :-) Gabby loves Harry to bits. He's her favorite teddy bear! ****Now that I think about it, picture her curling up in Harry's lap and kipping there for the duration of this chapter, since I just realized she kinda disappeared********... oops... I had a rather cute scene I was working out for her in Ch17, but I'll tell you about it when we get there. I'm really sad it had to go away. :(**

******phoenix power: Thanks for the compliment, but unfortunately I don't get to make a living doing this. :) Although that might be an option when I run out of time to laze around writing fanfic... As to Harry being weak though, the best way I can explain is "Ron's fear of spiders." This is not a rational thing for Harry, and I don't think it would be for any abused child. He has incredible backbone and can push through just about anything when need be, but only because other concerns blind him to his irrational fears. In a soft environment like this where he has no purpose other than to be there, he has nothing to distract him from them. ********I'm no psychologist by any means, but that's how I see it. :-)**

******Ah well, back to the terribly obnoxious chapter I'm trying edit... Thanks again for your reviews :) I won't respond like this too often, but I might from time to time...**


	10. The Case Against Snivellus Snape

**A/N: I feel *really* guilty now for cutting the basilisk viewing scene out of the last chapter several edits ago. Maybe I'll do an outtake at some point. More notes at the end (demonicnargles, this means you!). :-)**

**Chapter 10**

The Case Against Snivellus Snape

One thing rapidly led to another, and before Harry knew it, they were reviewing every significant event of his Hogwarts career in the Pensieve. In fact, they went through so much that the Delacour family now knew things that even Ron and Hermione didn't know. It was nothing secret – just details that he never bothered to share – but it was startling nevertheless.

To say that Sebastian was livid would be putting it mildly, and the rest of the family was not far behind. Looking at it objectively through the lens of the unique magical device, even Harry could admit that he was angry at just how bolluxed up his school career had been. The number of times he had almost been killed...

They returned to Hogwarts very early the following morning, but not before Sebastian pulled him aside for a private chat. Harry was shocked to learn that the man had figured out that he was holding back in school, and even more so to realize that he really had no idea why he was even still doing it. It wasn't like the Dursleys had ever checked his Hogwarts grades, so he didn't need to worry about doing better than Dudley anymore.

It was simply an ingrained habit, and one which Sebastian was hell bent on breaking him of. He kindly explained that he was expected to do his best in school, and Harry accepted it with a mixture of gratitude and trepidation – the former because the man cared, and the latter in wonder of what would happen if he messed up. And then Sebastian told him that they rewarded their children for excellent grades, and to keep that in mind.

Having a family that cared for him was definitely a new experience, even if he thought it would be a very long time before he could truly accept them as such.

The lack of sleep did him in – and Fleur as well – and they both barely made it through their classes the next day, and did not see each other. He was fortunate that he managed to get any sleep at all; he found it difficult in the wake of the shocks of the past week. And then, as the perfect cap, he had to endure his least-favorite day.

Friday.

Where most students loved Fridays, being the last day before the weekend, Harry loathed them. He, like anyone else, was grateful that the week was about to end, but there was an overriding factor. It was one that could not be avoided, and one that he very much wished he could do without.

He had Potions on Friday.

Today's class was one of the worst he'd yet endured, too. It would have been one thing if Snape kept to his normal attacks on Harry and his father, but involving Hermione was just not right! Never mind that the article was full of lies; reading anything like that – true or not – to a class of teenagers, just to spite a student, was completely out of line. By the time dinner rolled around he was angry, and it was hard not to notice.

"Bloody git," he grumbled to himself.

"Stop, Harry," sighed Hermione. "We can't do anything about it. It isn't worth worrying about."

Harry stabbed moodily at his shepherd's pie. He couldn't help but wonder: was that really true? Did they really have to put up with Snape's attitude? What exactly was it that stopped someone from raising a stink about it and getting the man sacked?

"Sez right, 'arry," said Ron through a mouthful of potatoes. "ih won oo ay good."

"Don't talk with your mouth full, Ronald," scowled Hermione.

Ron swallowed his mouthful of potatoes. "Leave off," he grumbled at her.

"I will when you learn some manners!" she sniffed.

"Whatever, Little Miss Perfect," scowled Ron. "We can't all be like _you_."

"Only because you're too lazy to try!"

"You just don't like that I have a life!"

"What life? You play chess all day, Ronald! That's not a life!"

Harry waited for the next retort to roll back by, but it never came. Worse, when he looked up in morbid curiosity, the reason was apparent: Ron's face had gone slack, and he had a hungry look in his eyes as they followed someone's progress up the aisle between the tables. Harry didn't have to ask who it was, but didn't turn to look until he felt her hand come down on his neck.

He absolutely _loved_ how it felt when she did that! That night at Chateau Delacour, she had touched him in simple ways that nobody ever had before, and he was astonished at how much he liked it! He didn't normally like people touching him, but she was... _different, _somehow.

He closed his eyes at the sensation, unable to resist.

"Do you mind if I join you?" she asked smoothly.

Harry smiled and started to open his mouth, but Ron got there first. "Yeah!" he breathed. "Yeah, you can join us! Budge up, Hermione!"

Hermione snarled when he tried to push her over – and he was quickly on the wrong end of her wand, stopping him instantly. Even Fleur's allure couldn't distract him from his fear of that wand! Hermione was dangerous when she was hacked off, and Harry was easily smart enough never to be in that position.

Ron, not so much.

And now he had _two_ annoyed Witches to contend with. Harry looked up in time to see that Fleur was directing a fierce look in Ron's direction, her annoyance at his interruption shining through clearly. He felt a perverse sense of satisfaction at that: if only Ron knew what was _really_ going on!

"I was asking a _man_," she said scathingly. "Not an excitable little boy like you."

Hermione's snarl faltered, and suddenly she was fighting an evil grin at Ron's sputtering. Harry smirked, patted the seat next to him, and smiled up at Fleur. "It's all yours if you can put up with us, _belle femme_," he offered.

Ron and Hermione both stared at him in open astonishment – probably for different reasons – while Fleur quirked an eyebrow and slid gracefully into the proffered seat.

"_Français?_" she grinned at him. "_Je suis impressionné!"_

"Me too," breathed Hermione.

Harry snorted. Of course Hermione spoke French! He could at least guess at the meaning of her comment, though. "I only know a teensy bit," he shrugged. "I figure I have to start somewhere."

"Why bother?" asked Ron dumbly. "Nobody here speaks it anyway. It's useless!"

Harry nearly groaned aloud at Ron's utter cluelessness. For one, he was learning French for good reason: his future wife and her family spoke it. Not to mention, he would likely spend the summer in France. But what galled him was that apparently Fleur didn't register on the boy's radar, at least not as a person!

Fleur quirked an elegant eyebrow at him. "Do your feet truly taste so good?" she snarked.

Hermione snorted into her pumpkin juice, and Ron got a confused look on his face. "Huh?" he asked intelligently.

"Nevair mind," sighed Fleur, and then she turned her attention back to Harry. "So what 'as you so angry, 'Arry?" she asked curiously.

Harry blinked. "How did you know?"

Fleur snorted indelicately. "I could feel ze 'eat of it from across ze 'all," she said with a raised eyebrow. "Zere was even a dark cloud over your 'ead."

Hermione fought down a grin at her directness, and though Harry figured it was probably fairly accurate, he rolled his eyes anyway. She'd brought his good mood back, and he didn't want to let it go, but he supposed it was a reasonable question, so he answered it.

"Oh," he said simply. "Just Snape. I really hate that git."

"Don't get him started, Fleur," warned Hermione. "We can't do anything about it, and it'll just make him mad again."

Fleur frowned slightly at her, but Harry noticed that it was more a thoughtful frown than the ones she gave Ron. Apparently she liked Hermione a bit better, which was hopefully a good thing. "What did 'e do?" she asked finally.

"Other than being his usual snarky self?" he asked rhetorically. "First he read one of Skeeter's articles about Hermione and me to the entire class, and then he accused me of stealing from the Potions stores. And when I denied it, he threatened to dose me with Veritaserum when I wasn't looking."

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "'E threatened you wiz a controlled potion?" she asked dangerously.

"I'm getting used to it, to be honest," scowled Harry. "He pretty much hates me."

Hermione groaned. "What do you want us to do about it, Harry?" she asked in exasperation. "There's nothing we _can_ do! We've told McGonagall, and I even talked to the Headmaster about it once! They defend him at every turn, Merlin only knows why!"

"So we should sit and take it?" he countered. "That's not on, Hermione."

He wasn't sure why it was that he was suddenly so convinced that they could do something about Snape, but he knew they had to. After all, if the Dursleys could get theirs, then why not Snape? It would make the school a much more pleasant place, especially since it would force the Slytherins to be held accountable for their actions!

"'E is right," agreed Fleur, surprising him. "Veritaserum is not legal in a school. Even threatening its use is a... 'ow do you say?" Her face scrunched up almost as adorably as Gabrielle's often did. "Mis– misday–"

"Misdemeanor?" offered Harry.

"_Oui!_" she said with a bright smile. "Zat is ze word!"

Ron, who had gone back to staring hungrily at Fleur, suddenly brightened. "Wait, you mean we can get him arrested?"

"If only," scowled Harry. "Dumbledore's too high up, Ron. It wouldn't stick."

"Unless ze case is airtight," countered Fleur.

Harry blinked slowly as an idea formed. They had all made a small effort at getting Snape sacked at one time or another, but nobody ever believed them. And perhaps that was the crux of the issue: without proof, nobody was willing to believe a student over the word of a Professor...

"Are memories admissible in court?" he asked suddenly.

Fleur raised an eyebrow. "You would 'ave to ask Papa," she shrugged. "But I do not zink so."

"You'd have to catch him in a crime anyway," countered Hermione, ever the pessimist. "He hasn't actually done anything wrong."

"Hasn't he though?" retorted Harry. "How many students have been hurt in that class because he doesn't teach, Hermione?"

Hermione blinked.

"Talk to Papa," shrugged Fleur. "'E will know if you 'ave a case."

Harry couldn't help the slow, slightly evil smile that crept across his features, or the light that appeared in his eyes. Dealing a massive blow to Snape would be a dream come true! And if it was legal, then the git couldn't get back at him for it without opening an enormous can of worms!

"Uh oh," frowned Hermione.

"What?" asked Fleur bemusedly.

"He has that look," groaned Hermione. "Now _nothing_ will stop him!"

Fleur reached over and placed a single slender finger under his chin, sending an unexpected wave of fire through him that made him shudder in pleasure. He had to admit, her touch did funny things to him, and he was relatively certain that it wasn't because of her allure. He was beginning to wonder what was going on with that.

Nevertheless, he didn't resist, and soon found himself facing a veela sporting an evil grin. This was not reassuring: he knew what veela were capable of! He narrowed his eyes slightly as he wondered if she had a Marauding side, so to speak...

"What?" he asked cluelessly.

"I think I like zis look," she said huskily. "I want to remember it."

Harry blushed to the roots of his hair at the way she spoke, and Hermione grinned widely at his discomfort. Ron, however, just had to go and ruin the moment: he stuck his finger down his throat and pretended to gag on it like a five-year-old in a schoolyard. Hermione smacked him hard on the shoulder, but before the oncoming argument could develop – fortunately for all involved – the twins chose to interrupt.

They were sitting only a few seats down, and had apparently been listening in, because they abruptly changed positions, coming up behind Hermione on either side. One of them pushed Ron over to make room, to his annoyance, and they immediately started in. Of course, they were the twins, so–

"We couldn't help–" said one.

"–but overhear–" said the other.

"–your conversation," they both finished at the same time.

"We have plenty of memories–"

"–if you want them."

"Any way to get rid of Snape–"

"–is fine by us!"

Even as distracted as he was by their antics, Harry still smirked evilly as more plans started forming in his head. Who _wouldn't_ want to get rid of Snape? Other than the Slytherins, of course; they were favored, and therefore didn't count. Wouldn't _they_ be shocked if the git was sacked? They used him like a shield, confident that he would overturn any punishment they received, and were therefore the source of most of the bullying in the castle!

Meanwhile, as Harry thought about it, Fleur was examining the twins rather closely through narrowed eyes. Harry glanced over and caught the expression, and raised an eyebrow. _Something_ about them had caught her attention, and sure enough–

"'ow do zey do zat?" she asked suspiciously.

"Do–" said one twin.

"–what?" said the other.

"Zat!" she said exasperatedly.

"Trade secret," said one of them.

"Yup, sorry," agreed the other, not at all apologetic.

Fleur blinked, and then speared them with a rather impressive glare. "Tell me!" she demanded.

Fred and George exchanged unreadable looks, and then– "No," they said simultaneously.

Harry could admit that he was impressed with their ability to face down that glare. That said, it had been a while since anyone had gotten their goats, and as he now had a plan for dealing with Snape, he was feeling pretty good. And he was feeling _daring!_ And Fleur did have a sense of humor...

"Um, guys?" he called humorously.

"Yeah, Harrykins?" asked one of them – Fred if he wasn't mistaken.

"You do realize she's veela, right?" he prodded, an evil glint appearing in his eye.

"So?" asked George.

"Remember the World Cup?" he smirked.

Their eyes abruptly widened, and their gazes snapped back to Fleur, who was now sporting an evil grin to match Harry's. And Harry, for his part, was mildly relieved: he wasn't sure if she would take offense to being compared to the fire-throwing harpies from the World Cup, whether or not she actually was one! But apparently, it wasn't a problem.

After matching stares with her for a long moment, the twins finally narrowed their gazes, and Harry saw it when they decided to cut their losses. "Maybe later," said one.

"Definitely not in public," agreed the other.

Fleur smiled brightly at them and then turned to Harry. "We must learn zis," she grinned. "It will greatly disturb Grand-mère."

By this time, the entire group was staring at Fleur as though she'd grown a second head, and Harry could guess why. She was supposed to be the Bitch of Beauxbatons! But apart from her dealings with Ron, that image was nowhere to be found, and Harry had to admit, he liked this Fleur!

If she felt comfortable being like this all the time, or at least when she was with him, he would be thrilled! Of course, the Bitch had its uses – like beating up on Ron when he was acting the fool – but he rather enjoyed the idea of a Marauding veela to get up to mischief with. He hadn't done that in a non-life-and-death way, and it might be fun!

"I don't believe we've been introduced," noted a twin, interrupting his pleasant daydream.

"I'm Fred Weasley," said the other, offering a hand.

"And I'm George Weasley," said the first.

Fleur chuckled. "Pleasure," she nodded.

Both twins smiled toothily at her, and George spoke up again. "So you're hanging out with ickle Harrykins now?" he asked.

"Have to admit, that's a mighty big surprise," nodded Fred.

"Although, he _did_ pull you out of the lake," mused George.

And then, to Harry's disquiet, they both turned deadly serious expressions on him. It was gone in a heartbeat, but he knew somehow that they _knew!_ Or at least suspected! Of course, they covered it brilliantly...

"Something you want to tell us, Harrykins?" asked Fred.

"We'd really like to know your secret," nodded George in faux-solemnity.

Then they turned back to Fleur and simultaneously asked, "Know any veela twins?"

Fleur, who was looking concerned as she took a sip from her goblet at that very moment, sprayed juice all over the table in a very undignified fashion. Far from being concerned about it, though, she started laughing. Harry was dimly aware that the Great Hall had fallen silent at the sound, Hermione was staring at Fleur in open astonishment, and Ron had gone dreamy again, but he ignored all of it.

Instead, he drew his wand and calmly cleaned up her mess.

"I do not zink zat you would survive zem!" she laughed.

The twins pouted. "Introduce us?" requested Fred.

"Pleeeeease?" added George.

"You will 'ave to come to France," she smiled. "But if you come, I will introduce you. Do not get your 'opes up, zo. Zey are very picky, and I zink zey 'ave found boyfriends."

"Competition–"

"-is not a problem."

"We'll just prank them–"

"-until they drop!"

Fleur chortled and shook her head at the twins.

The rest of the meal went much more smoothly, though Ron would probably have a sore ankle for the number of times Hermione had to kick him under the table for staring at Fleur. For her part, Fleur simply ignored him, but really, it was going to be a problem if he couldn't get over his obsession with her. It was incredibly rude!

Not that he should really expect anything else from Ron...

As dinner neared its end, though, Harry tuned out the humorous conversation taking place, and turned back to planning. He really _did_ want to get rid of Snape, and this was, quite possibly, the best way to do it short of sacking Dumbledore. He just needed to know if it would work.

"Fleur?" he called absently, not noticing the conversation he interrupted.

"'Arry?" she smiled.

"Is Sebastian around?" he asked. "I really want to talk to him about Snape."

Fleur shrugged elegantly. "We can always Floo to ze Chateau if 'e is not," she reminded him.

"Mind if they come with us?" he requested tentatively, nodding at the group across the table. "They'll have some pretty good memories for this."

Fleur must have detected his nervousness at asking the question, because she smiled gently at him, and her voice was softer when she spoke. "Zey are your friends, 'Arry," she said seriously. "You do not need to ask me for permission."

Shock rolled over him as he slowly came to understand her meaning, and the twins exchanged a significant look between them, but Harry ignored it. In fact, the only one oblivious to what she said was Ron: at some point in the last ten minutes he'd stopped listening and started drooling. It was disgusting!

Giving Fleur a small smile of thanks, he turned to his other two friends. He was hesitant to invite Ron, but he really didn't see an option unless he wanted to detonate their friendship on the spot. With an internal sigh, he shot a questioning look at them.

"Of course I'll come, Harry," smiled Hermione, understanding his meaning perfectly. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble."

"Ron?" he prompted.

The sound of his name shook Ron out of his daze, and Harry frowned, his eyes narrowing dangerously for a brief moment. On the other hand, perhaps it was time that Ron learned a lesson. Harry was _not_ going to allow him to ogle his fiancée!

"Never mind," he decided eventually.

Hermione's eyes widened, as did Fleur's, but Harry ignored them and turned to walk out of the hall. The twins, having caught his displeasure, conveniently distracted Ron (he didn't want to know how) and caught up with them on the grounds. Harry nodded his thanks, and they resumed their trek to the Beauxbatons carriage.

Fleur was pensive for the first half of the trip, and then she finally drew him to a halt and said what was on her mind. "I do not care for 'im, 'Arry," she admitted softly, "but you do not need to exclude 'im for me."

Harry, however, felt differently, and on impulse, he reached over and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "What he's doing isn't right, Fleur," he said honestly. "I'm hoping that maybe getting left behind will get the message across." His expression darkening, he added, "Friend or not, he's not allowed to ogle you like a bloody piece of meat."

Fleur studied his expression carefully to determine the truth of his words, and then she smiled, leaned down, and kissed him gently on the cheek. "_Merci, 'Arry_," she whispered with surprising emotion.

Stunned by her actions, Harry never even realized when she stared walking again. Instead, his hand slowly came up to touch the spot her lips had touched. He could still feel his cheek tingling! She probably would've been forced to come back for him had the twins not come to the rescue.

They stepped up on either side of him and snagged his arms, propelling him forward.

"That is one hot bird," said Left Twin.

"And she likes you," nodded Right Twin.

"She likes you a lot."

"So do yourself a favor."

"Treat her right."

"And don't hack her off."

Harry smiled at their antics. "Too right," he agreed. "I'm starting to think this might not be so bad after all."

"Just don't forget to invite us to the wedding," they smirked simultaneously.

And somehow, Harry knew they weren't joking.

They entered Fleur's room in the carriage a short time later to find Sebastian sitting at a table amidst a rather large amount of paperwork, and Harry instantly felt guilty. The man was doing so much for him; could he really ask for even more? He started to waffle because of it, but Sebastian noticed them before he could change his mind.

"Fleur! 'Arry!" he greeted, getting up and rounding the table to give them both – to Harry's surprise – warm hugs. "And who are your friends?"

"Er, this is Fred and George Weasley," Harry said. "Not sure which is which, to be honest. And this is Hermione Granger, my best friend." Turning to his friends, he added, "Guys, meet Sebastian Delacour, Fleur's father."

They exchanged brief greetings, and then Sebastian chuckled as he eyed Fred and George. "I'm impressed," he noted. "No drooling."

"Papa!" exclaimed a scandalized Fleur.

"Nope," confirmed Fred.

"No drooling here," agreed George.

"Not that she isn't drool-worthy," frowned Fred.

"Definitely drool-worthy!" agreed George solemnly.

"But unlike certain other–"

"–members of our family who shall remain nameless–"

"–we actually have some self control–"

"–and a healthy fear of an angry Harry!"

"Too right!"

"He defeated Voldemort, what, three times now?"

"We don't stand a chance!"

Harry stared at them, nonplussed. He'd never thought about it that way before, but it was true that he'd defeated Voldemort three times, two of them knowingly! But did the twins really think it was that big of a deal? It was probably good that he couldn't tell.

For his part, Sebastian just laughed. "I like them already," he grinned. "So what brings you all 'ere?"

Harry lowered his gaze to the floor and shuffled his feet. "Er, we can come back if you're busy."

Fleur, however, was having none of it. She reached out and once again lifted his head by the chin. "Non," she said firmly. "'E is nevair too busy for you, 'Arry. You will learn zis soon enough."

"Quite right," agreed Sebastian, gracing his daughter with a smile. "So what is this about?"

Harry had to blink a tear from his eye, but quickly mastered himself. "I want to do something about Snivellus," he said finally. "I was thinking if we can get enough memories together, then maybe we can make something stick. I'm just not sure how to make it work."

Sebastian narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then motioned them over to the sitting area, while he himself went to gather a Pensieve from somewhere. He set it on the table when he returned, and fixed Harry with an attentive look. Harry was surprised at how good that simple action made him feel: he wasn't being ignored like he usually was!

"Talk to me, 'Arry," he said seriously. "Tell me what we are looking at."

Harry frowned for a moment. "Maybe we should just show you," he said slowly. "A couple of memories from each of us? That way you can see what we're dealing with. It's been going on for a long time."

"Then that is what we will do," nodded Sebastian.

Hermione looked surprised, but more than willing to go with it. She quickly explained that she was choosing a memory of a class period that Harry missed, because it proved that he was just as bad when Harry wasn't around. The twins, remarkably serious for them, also each entered a memory of their own.

Harry, for his part, put today's memory in, along with his first Potions class.

"First I want you to see the first class I had with him," he decided. "I'd never even met the man before. The other one I put in is today's, but other than that, I guess it doesn't matter what order we go in."

Sebastian nodded, and they were off. He was visibly annoyed by the time the memory of Harry's first potions class ended, and angry when he finished the memories from the others. And then he watched today's class.

Harry could only describe his rather frightening expression as pure, unadulterated rage.

Nobody spoke as Sebastian closed his eyes and pulled himself back together. Fleur was also visibly hacked off – and though he had no intention of mentioning it, he noticed a slight outgrowth around the base of her neck that looked like feathers. It was only there briefly, but it was there nonetheless, and a book he read on veela said that they had to be _really _angry to accidentally transform.

It made his heart swell that they cared so much, though he fervently hoped never to have their anger turned on _him_.

"Zat _cochon!_" burst Sebastian finally. "Zat _batard_ is sabotaging 'is students, and 'is treatment of you is an abomination!"

The slight thickening of Sebastian's accent clued Harry in that this was no act. He was _hacked!_ And rightfully so, in Harry's opinion; even _he_ had a strong reaction to it after looking at it objectively like that!

"We've tried talking to McGonagall," said Hermione tentatively, "and I talked to the Headmaster once, but they won't listen."

"Of course not," snorted Sebastian. "He's Albus' pet Death Eater. He probably wants 'im as a spy for when Voldemort returns. Too bad 'e's not going to 'ave 'im if I 'ave any say in ze matter!"

Harry's expression dimmed considerably. "He's a Death Eater?" he hissed quietly.

Sebastian turned a serious expression on him, even as Fleur's hand found its way to his neck. "Tried and convicted," he said flatly as he calmed down. "'e was pardoned because 'e supposedly spied for us, but it was on Albus' word, and 'e won't tell anyone why 'e believes in Snape. That makes me think 'is reasons won't 'old up to scrutiny."

Harry closed his eyes and swayed in his seat as yet another wave of betrayal washed over him. The bastard was hiring Death Eaters to teach his students! The very people he was supposed to be fighting! Harry did not believe for a moment that Snape was reformed; he still acted the part of the Dark Wizard, and that said plenty.

The silence in the room was broken only by the creaking of a seat, and a moment later he felt Fleur's arms come all the way around him. Needing the comfort, he leaned into her and tried to let his anger run off. It was far more difficult than he expected.

Meanwhile, Sebastian started speaking again. "Pensieve memories are circumstantial evidence in court," he said slowly. "That will be our biggest problem."

It was the twins who responded in their usual alternating fashion, though he had never heard them do it before when they were serious.

"How about Veritaserum?"

"We can testify that the memory is accurate."

"Would that make it solid?"

Harry opened his eyes in time to see a surprised expression on Sebastian's face. "That might just work," he said with a slow nod. "I'll 'ave to talk to Madame Bones and see if there is precedent for or against, but I believe you might be on to something."

"Let us know if you need anything," offered a twin.

"All but the Slytherins want him gone," agreed the other.

Hermione even nodded her agreement with that, and then got her thoughtful look. "We need more than just us," she thought aloud. "If we present overwhelming evidence, even circumstantially, they won't have a choice, and most of the school would be willing to contribute. We should focus on incidents where students were actually harmed. Verbal abuse is wrong, but I'm not so sure it would stick as a crime."

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. "I agree," he nodded, "but we need to get the evidence without Albus knowing, or 'e will try to block it."

"Leave that to us," smirked Fred.

"We know everyone," nodded George.

"All we have to do–"

"–is tell them we plan to–"

"–prank Snape!" they finished together.

Harry couldn't help his chuckle. "They have a point," he smirked evilly. "The students would do anything to see it, and the memories would be easy to get."

"Then let's see what we can do," nodded Sebastian. "And 'Arry?"

"Sir?" blinked Harry.

"Do not ever 'esitate to come to me," he said seriously. "No matter if it's something that you think is completely foolish, or even if you just want to talk. That is what I am 'ere for. Alright?"

Harry nodded, and had to wipe another tear from his eye because he was getting overwhelmed again. That was happening a lot lately...

"Thank you," he said quietly.

**A/N: Erf. More comments to all your wonderful reviews!**

**Gseven: Chapters will vary in length. Hopefully this one makes you feel better. :-)**

**phoenix power: Yes, yes I do. :-) The wonder of being unemployed. Won't be able to keep up that pace for much longer though, as I *do* have a life... Good thing I have so much already written :)**

**demonicnargles: On Fleur/Harry: She didn't. She noticed that, plus her dad's demand not to question him, plus his statement that Harry isn't used to being held. Then she put two and two together, and there aren't many reasonable values of four that make sense. :-) As to the Pensieve, I think the angle I'm using will work for you as far as "proving"; you'll have to wait and see when it gets to court (which is my favorite pair of chapters so far in this thing). Sirius will likely not be done that way, though, Sebastian just wants Bones informed. BTW, do you have a reference to Pensieves being uber-rare in canon? I've been wondering about that (though even in that case I don't think it odd that Bones and Delacour have them, given government employee and rich guy). My personal pet peeve with fanfic pensieves is "pensive learning lessons." You'll note that Harry will NOT be learning French that way. :-)**

**hushpuppy22: Er, I *did* say in my original A/N that this is a Ron-basher... As to the rest, well, you're entitled to your opinion, and so am I. I'll not say more on the subject; I could, but this is a story, not a debate. :-)**

**Sleep sounds good now; I got caught up in editing last night, and got most of the way through everything I have marked as "definitely staying". Now I get to figure out how to untangle the mess at the end. :-)**


	11. First Date

**A/N: So I sat down early this morning to do the final edit on this chapter, and I just couldn't bring myself to post it. IMHO, it was easily the worst chapter in the story; the quality was miles beneath everything else. As a result I scrapped it completely, and after dealing with some Real Life Stuff(tm), rewrote it. What was once one chapter has now become two as result (the other one probably needs to be rewritten again, but oh well).**

**I'm not sure I'm happy with this, and it hasn't had as much scrutiny as I normally give my work before posting, but I don't want to keep you waiting, so here it is. Let me know what you think. :-)**

** PS: I finally figured out a good way to do scene breaks in this thing! Woohoo!**

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**Chapter 11**

First Date

Fleur sighed heavily as she fidgeted with her hair in front of the mirror. Had anyone told her two weeks ago that she would be nervous about a date with a younger boy, she would have laughed at them. Who would ever expect Fleur Delacour, Queen of Cold, to go out with someone three years younger and actually care about the outcome?

Not Fleur, that much was certain.

Given the circumstances, she should have been worried about making a good impression to ensure that he would still marry her, but she could not bring herself to do so. Instead, she wanted this to be a good day simply because he was a genuinely nice boy. And that he had so few good times to recall as it was, made her all the more determined.

She was relatively certain that when her father used the euphemism "less than ideal" to describe Harry's living conditions, he actually meant "abusive." It was hard to imagine – he was too famous to have a life like that, wasn't he? – but she could not think of any other reason for the warning not to question him. Between that and his reaction to Caterine that night, she could come to no other conclusion.

And that was to say nothing of his school career.

Fleur dropped her hands and leaned against the wardrobe for a moment as she was assaulted by the memories she had seen in the Pensieve. Truly, his experiences at Hogwarts would have been horrifying for someone three times his age. The diary alone was enough to give her nightmares.

When she learned that he had defeated a basilisk, she initially pictured a relatively small creature, but the one he fought was nothing of the sort. It was likely a thousand years old from what he said, and it was nearly sixty feet long. And he was bitten by the thing!

That he survived was amazing, and not simply for the physical danger that was involved.

Prior to the incident at Chateau Delacour, he appeared to her as a very well adjusted young man, if a little overly mature for his age. He was rather dour at times, but that was understandable given the dangers he was facing in the Tournament. But now she saw another side of him – a vulnerable side – that made her wonder how he could even go on.

She could not help but come to the conclusion that, just like her, he maintained a front to prevent others from learning who he really was inside. He hid behind his amazing courage, allowing it to dominate his interactions with others. Nobody knew that he was far from whole; that he was quite broken underneath that impressive strength.

It was guesswork on her part, but it made sense, and it made her want to help him – to give him the love that he so clearly lacked in his life. And so here she stood, primping in front of a mirror, trying to make herself even more beautiful for what would hopefully be a fun day in the nearby town. She had to admit that she was curious to know what he considered fun.

Shaking off her thoughts, Fleur glanced at herself in the mirror one last time before finally deciding that she was as presentable as she was going to get. She had gone to great lengths to look her best today, and it was a lot of work, even given her heritage. This was not something she would have done for just anybody – her natural beauty usually carried her through – but she was certain that he would appreciate it.

She found a bright, warm morning awaiting her when she stepped out of the carriage, and she savored it as she walked slowly to the castle.

When she reached the Great Hall, Fleur was unsurprised to see Harry already sitting with his friends. As always, many heads turned as she moved toward the Gryffindor table to join them, but she tried to ignore the unwelcome attention as best she could. Unfortunately, she was dressed up enough that even the boys who had some self control were staring, and she suddenly wondered at the wisdom of her decision.

Was this what would happen in Hogsmeade? The last thing Harry needed was more attention, and if they were spotted in town, it would likely get around quickly. She frowned at the thought, but then abruptly pushed it aside; people were going to have to get used to it, so there was no use in worrying.

Between his fame and her beauty, there was little they could do to avoid being noticed.

Snorting morbidly to herself, Fleur made her way up the aisle. Harry was sitting with his back to her – which was unusual since he normally liked to watch the rest of the Hall at meals – with Ron and Hermione seated across from him. Ron looked up at her approach, and his eyes glazed over, his expression instantly losing cohesion.

He was worse than almost any other boy she had ever had the displeasure of meeting! Granted, he was young, but this was going a bit far, and she did not know what to do about it. How was she supposed to avoid destroying Harry's friendship with him when he could barely string two words together in her presence?

And Harry noticed it quickly, as usual. He stiffened, his gaze fixed on the obnoxious boy, and she did not need to see his face to know that he was scowling. Still buried in her book, Hermione was oblivious at the moment.

Fleur put it from her mind, though, and laid her hand against the nape of Harry's neck in greeting. "_Bonjour_," she said, gracing him with a genuine smile.

The smile he sent back to her was unusually shy, even for him. "Morning," he returned quietly.

Clearly he was nervous, but for his sake, where she would have teased another boy, she ignored it and slid gracefully into the seat beside him, which he was obviously saving for her. His eyes followed her down, a mixture of emotions playing behind them. Yes, he was nervous, but he was also pleased to see her. She was mesmerized by it for a moment, and could not look away.

But then–

_Thump._

"Hey!" griped Ron. "Stop kicking me, Hermione!"

"We talked about this not five minutes ago, Ronald," she scowled. "Knock it off!"

"Sorry," he grumbled darkly.

Fleur winced, and Harry's face fell, morphing into a scowl as he turned to send a meaningful glare at his friend. She did not have to guess to know that the issue of Ron's inattention the previous evening had been discussed, and it was clear that neither Harry nor Hermione were happy with the boy. She was both flattered and horrified by that fact.

With an inward sigh, though, she did her best to ignore it, and simply reached for the food and began to dish up while watching Harry from the corner of her eye. He was even quieter than usual this morning, probably out of nerves, and was not eating much. In fact, five minutes into the meal, he took to nervously shredding a napkin with his fingers, his food all but forgotten.

Fleur finally reached over and snatched it from him with an amused smile. "You are making a mess," she informed him. "I am not zat scary, am I?"

Harry blinked up at her and promptly blushed. "Sorry," he grumbled in embarrassment.

Her smile softened sympathetically, and she gently combed her fingers through his hair in silent apology. He closed his eyes in response, a small smile playing briefly on his lips; it was clear to her that, despite his issues with physical contact, he greatly enjoyed it from those he truly trusted. Whether or not that included her _was_ another question, but she was resolved to get him used to it.

Her internal musings were interrupted however, when–

"So where are we going first?" asked Ron.

Fleur arched an eyebrow at his presumption, but said nothing.

"Sorry, Ron, I have a date," said Harry quietly.

Ron stared at him for a moment, and then snorted derisively. "Uh huh," he said skeptically. "With who?"

Fleur's hackles rose at the boy's obviously low opinion of Harry's chances with the girls. He was handsome, famous, brave, and so incredibly sweet, that she doubted almost anyone would deny him! She had to wonder if Ron could possibly be so clueless as he appeared, and for once, the disgusted expression that appeared on her features was entirely genuine.

"I should zink zat would be obvious," she scowled.

Ron's eyes bulged. "You're going with _her_?" he asked Harry incredulously.

"Yes, Ron," sighed Harry with remarkable patience. "I'm going with her."

Ron blinked stupidly back at him. Fleur could not tell what he was thinking – or even if he was doing so at all. It was obvious that he didn't believe his best friend rated her as a date though, and that made her wonder why they were friends at all. She would not have put up with someone who had such a low opinion of her.

"Oh," he finally said, shaking himself out of his daze. Then he turned instead to the girl next to him, who still had her nose in a book. "So where are we going, Hermione?" he asked.

The thunderous scowl that appeared on Hermione's face at the question was something to behold. While Fleur could certainly have given her some pointers given her long experience, she was still seriously impressed! The way she stared imperiously down her nose at the redhead from over the top of her book was positively masterful.

"Don't you _ever_ listen?" she asked him disgustedly. "I told you_ last week_ that I have a date, Ron!"

"You do?" asked Harry in sudden surprise. "I don't remember you saying anything about it, and I'm not usually _that_ ignorant."

Hermione's expression softened as she turned toward him. "Neville asked me while you were having dinner with Sebastian," she explained, even as a small smile appeared on her lips. "He was really sweet about it, so I said yes."

"What?" yelped Ron before Harry could respond. "You're going with Neville? _Squib_ Neville?"

"Don't call him that!" snarled Hermione.

"What? It's true, innit?"

"He does better in class than you do, Ron!"

Fleur's gaze bounced back and forth between them as the argument picked up steam, and she could not help but feel like she was intruding. And, surprisingly enough, Harry looked like he felt the same way. The frown he wore said it all, and finally he turned to her with a resigned expression.

"Er, do you want to go?" he asked tentatively. Fleur eyed her nearly untouched breakfast, but then Harry smiled shyly at her. "We can get breakfast in Hogsmeade if you want," he offered. "I didn't eat much either."

Fleur glanced with mild disgust at the still-arguing pair. Not that she could blame Hermione for it – the girl had good reason to be annoyed – but it wasn't something she cared to listen to. How Harry put up with it was quite a mystery, and even as a mere guest in the castle, she was well aware that this was not an uncommon occurrence between those two. She really didn't need to see it up close and personal.

And so, with that in mind...

"_Oui_," she said decisively. "Let us find somewhere more... peaceful."

==========[break]==========

Harry thought breakfast went reasonably well, with the notable exception that the conversation was somewhat stilted. This was completely new territory for him, and he had no idea what to talk about with Fleur. He had to give her credit, though: she was very patient with him, and not once did she seem like she was annoyed.

She also agreed to meet Sirius that afternoon, which was something, at least.

They spent most of the morning wandering from shop to shop, and though conversation was all but nonexistent, Fleur appeared to be having a good time. He paid close attention as she browsed, noting what she liked and didn't. He was surprised to find that she loved the little things, and all but ignored the bigger, more expensive items.

He wasn't bored, per se, but this wasn't at all how he pictured a date going. There weren't even any fancy restaurants in Hogsmeade where he could take her for lunch or dinner! His only concession to a romantic encounter was when he stopped to buy her flowers; she was delighted by the gesture, and now wore a single red rose in her hair over her right ear.

But as they finally sat down for lunch in the Three Broomsticks, his nerves finally caught up with him, and he couldn't help his distraction. As the silence stretched on, he stared over her shoulder, his mind spinning with worry. What was he thinking, asking someone like Fleur on a date? She was _way_ out of his league!

But then–

"'Arry?" she called.

He focused back on the present to find her watching him with an understanding smile that he felt he didn't deserve. She had truly gone to a great deal of effort for him – she was gorgeous on any given day, but today she was something else entirely – and here he was, bolluxing it up! What was he supposed to say?

"Is somezing wrong?" she prompted with a slight frown, a worried crease appearing on her forehead.

Harry stared at her for a long moment. A large part of him wanted to leave and forget that this so-called date ever happened, but he couldn't do that to her. He had to at least try, considering that they were supposed to get married soon!

"Yeah," he heard himself sigh. "Sorry, Fleur, this is just... awkward, you know?" To his horror, once the floodgates were opened, he couldn't get them closed again. "I mean, what am I supposed to be doing?" he babbled. "I don't even know what to talk about! And, what do you even like to do? Are you bored? I didn't mean to–"

Fleur abruptly silenced his sudden nervous tirade by reaching across the table and pressing a finger to his lips. "I 'ave enjoyed ze morning very much, 'Arry," she said softly, with that same understanding smile. "It will take time for us to get to know each ozzer, non?"

Harry blinked. "Yeah, I guess," he sighed. "This is just weird, you know?"

"Is it because I am older?" she asked curiously.

Harry frowned and dropped his gaze to the table as he thought about that. Was that the reason this was so awkward? No, he didn't think so. It was more that he had only asked her out because he felt it was the right thing to do, not because he actually wanted to date her. Was that the source of the problem?

Finally he shook his head and looked up to fix her with a thoughtful expression.

"That's not it," he mused. And then he sighed. "Maybe you're right," he said with a shrug. "We just have to get to know each other, I guess."

Fleur smiled a genuine smile at him and brushed her hair back over her shoulder so she could lean forward and put her elbows on the table. He watched as she propped her chin on her hands, and was surprised by the genuinely interested look in her beautiful blue eyes. It wasn't a demanding one; just simple curiosity near as he could tell.

"Zen per'aps we should start," she suggested. "So tell me, 'Arry, what do you like to do for fun?"

Harry blinked bemusedly back at her for a long moment, but then, as he realized that they finally had a topic of conversation, a small smile appeared on his lips. Was that his problem? That he was beating around the bush, trying to avoid asking direct questions like that one?

It was an easy enough problem to solve...

"Well," he said slowly, his smile growing as he thought about it, "I guess flying has to be my favorite..."

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Fleur was immensely relieved. She had watched over the course of the morning as he folded into himself, withdrawing further and further as time went by, but she could not figure out what to do about it. But then lunch came, and somehow – by some miracle – she managed to get him to open up a little.

He relaxed more and more as they traded questions and answers, and, with some surprise, she realized that it was also putting _her_ more at ease. She had been so focused on making the day enjoyable for him, that she had not even realized how awkward she was feeling herself. And now that awkwardness was all but gone!

It was perhaps fortunate that they were at a secluded table in the back where no one could see them, because they remained there, simply talking, until it was time to meet his godfather. It was interesting hearing his perspectives, desires, and dreams, and though she was well aware that they had barely scratched the surface, it was still a very good start. She hoped he felt the same way.

She even managed to snag his hand as they left the tavern, and he smiled in response.

They were early reaching the stile where he was supposed to meet his godfather, and Fleur wondered what would happen if she gave things another little push. And the more she thought about it, the more she thought it might be a good idea. It was highly unlikely that Harry would be the one to start anything.

She did not yet love him in the way she wanted to, but she did care greatly for him, and that would be enough for now. Having love in her life was important to her – it had always been her greatest fear that her allure would prevent her from finding it – and she was beginning to suspect that he might be able to give her that someday. She did not want to be a big sister to him, so why not do something to help set the tone?

And with that in mind, as they came to a halt at the stile, Fleur interrupted his search of the surrounding area by gently grabbing his chin and turning his head toward her.

He looked at her in confusion, and though she could admit that she was nervous and felt a bit awkward about it, she leaned in, causing his eyes to widen. She was surprised when he didn't tense up much; it was as though he simply gathered his courage and went with it. He was clearly nervous, but also as curious as the next boy.

The kiss was nothing special – at least as far as she knew, given that she had never kissed a boy before – but it was nevertheless one that she would remember for the rest of her life. Their lips brushed cautiously, tentatively, but with caring feeling, and it struck her as a perfect corollary to their budding relationship. And while it was not passionate, it was not a mere peck either.

And then something cold and wet abruptly stuck itself between her legs.

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One thing Harry hadn't yet considered where Fleur was concerned was that they might actually snog. It was a startling concept, and caught him completely off guard, but yet he lost himself in it, truly enjoying the sensation. As nervous as he was about it, it was still far better than he ever would have imagined!

And then Fleur let out a startled yelp and danced away from him, nearly knocking him over in the process.

Bewildered, and worried that he'd done something wrong, his eyes shot open – only to come to rest on a shaggy black dog that was currently trying to stick its nose in her crotch while she repeatedly batted it away. With an irritated scowl, Harry drew his wand and snapped off a stinging hex, catching him on the hindquarters.

Now it was the dog's turn to let out a startled yelp.

"Knock it off, Padfoot!" he scowled. "Or I'll freeze your nose to the stile and leave you here!"

Fleur looked relieved when the dog backed off to lay on his belly, covering his eyes with his paws and whining pitifully. Harry snorted in morbid amusement – and suddenly found himself hoping that his godfather wouldn't pull a Ron where Fleur was concerned. That would be _embarrassing! _And he was rather annoyed that he'd just had his first ever kiss interrupted...

"Serves you right," he grumbled. And then he saw a light of realization dawn in Fleur's eyes, and sighed. "Fleur, meet Padfoot," he introduced. "Padfoot, Fleur. She knows, so let's go somewhere and talk, yeah?"

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "Zis _cabot_ zat just interrupted out first kiss is _Padfoot_?" she asked dangerously, drawing a worried look from the dog in question.

Under other circumstances Harry would have been worried – she was veela, and he was not looking forward to discovering her temper – but he could see a glint of humor in her eyes. He suddenly had a feeling that Sirius was in for a bad day, and returned briefly to his daydreams of Marauding veela, but quickly shook it off.

"You're in trouble now, Padfoot!" he suddenly grinned.

Fleur smirked evilly.

Yes, Padfoot might have a very bad day indeed.


	12. Now With Extra Padfoot!

**A/N: Thanks once again for the reviews. :-) I'm glad you all liked the last one! This half did get rewritten again, and it's better for it. I actually like this one (which probably means you'll hate it, but hey *shrug*). Again, though, not quite as much scrutiny as I usually give them...**

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**Chapter 12**

...Now With Extra Padfoot!

Fleur was apparently a big fan of nature hikes, and Harry filed that away for future reference. Maybe he could arrange a better date next time now that he knew. Of course, he only knew this in the first place because of the incredibly wide – and extremely evil – smile she wore for the duration of the trip to Padfoot's cave. The canine in question led them a merry chase, and she was clearly having the time of her life.

Of course, the chase – and her enjoyment of it – may have had something to do with the fact that she was repeatedly demonstrating her amazing proficiency with cosmetic Charms as they scrambled after him...

By the time they reached the cave, she'd somehow managed to hit him with no less than ten Charms and hexes, and probably closer to twenty. His fur had been hit with so many color changing Charms that he would've fit right in with a group of American hippies! She also managed to style his hair up a bit, resulting in a windswept mohawk that trailed down from his head all the way to his tail.

It was bright Slytherin green.

When they reached their destination, Padfoot took cover behind Buckbeak, who was tethered in the back of the cave. Harry and Fleur scrambled in after him huffing and puffing, and Fleur, who was in the lead, came to a screeching halt. She eyed the sleeping hippogriff warily, but wisely chose not to approach.

Padfoot morphed into Sirius, and then–

"Alright! I give!" he yelped.

Fleur stepped forward with an evil grin, and an equally evil light in her eyes. She crossed her arms and gave him an expectant look, foot tapping idly in the dirt. Harry smirked; his daydreams about Marauding veela were coming true!

"I think you owe someone an apology, Sirius," he grinned knowingly.

"Mmmm," nodded Fleur in an agreement, arching an eyebrow at the offender. "You should use caution, Meester Black. You are not ze only one 'oo can transform, and ze next time, your nose may become... _charred_."

Harry's smirk only grew when Sirius cautiously stepped forward and then suddenly dropped to his knees in front of her. "I'm sorry!" he gushed. "I'll never do it again, just don't hex me anymore! Please, I'm begging you!"

Harry chortled, and Fleur finally holstered her wand. "_Bon_," she grinned, "I will 'old you to zat."

And with that, she withdrew and took a position next to Harry, turning to give him a bright smile. Her cheeks were pink with exertion, and it only made her look that much more beautiful. He would let her chase his godfather all she wanted if it kept that delighted sparkle in her eyes, and he could not help but smile brightly back at her.

They didn't bother to inform Sirius that he now had a green streak down the middle of his head.

Looking like he, too, had just had the time of his life, Sirius grinned and swept Harry up in a warm, welcoming hug. Harry had to guess that it'd been a while since he'd had so much fun, and that dimmed his mood slightly, though he quickly pushed it away. He wouldn't ruin the day by worrying about his godfather's plight, when he could help the man forget for a while instead.

When Sirius finally pulled back, he eyed Fleur with interest. "So who's the bird, Harry?" he asked curiously.

A slow, evil smile grew on Harry's face. "Well..." he said slowly. "I suppose I should probably introduce you." Fleur must have noticed his look, because her grin reappeared, and he decided to lay it on thick. "Sirius Black," he intoned, "allow me to introduce my beautiful fiancée, Fleur Delacour. Fleur, meet my godfather, Sirius Black."

Sirius snorted and rolled his eyes disbelievingly. "Why, it's a pleasure to meet you, Madame," he said with a suave bow that did not at all match his starved, escaped-convict look. Then he paused for a moment, turning thoughtful, before– "Any relation to Sebastian Delacour?"

Harry blinked.

"_Oui_," she smiled. "'E is my fazzer."

"Hmph," grunted Sirius. "Well that explains that, then."

"Huh?" asked Harry.

Sirius reached into a pocket and pulled out a letter that looked like it'd been read at least a thousand times. It was wrinkled, the edges frayed, and – to Harry's surprise – it was written on familiar parchment. As he took it from Sirius, a mere glance at the handwriting showed that it was indeed from Sebastian:

_Mr. Black,_

_I have recently come into possession of circumstantial evidence indicating that you were falsely accused of your alleged crimes. Also, a foray into the British Ministry Archive indicates that you have never received a trial, fair or otherwise. France considers this a grave injustice, and the ignorance of Minister Fudge only underscores the matter._

_To that end, we would like to offer you asylum, with the caveat that you must testify under Veritaserum as to your innocence. While we cannot force the hand of the British Ministry at this time, we can at least provide you with safety and comfort. If you accept this offer, all of your needs will be provided for._

_I hope that you will seriously consider this opportunity. You deserve a safe home, and if you accept, I will personally see to it that you have one._

_Sincerely,  
Seigneur Sebastian Alexandre Delacour  
Director of Foreign Affairs  
Ministry of Magic, France_

Harry was dimly aware of Fleur moving to read over his shoulder as he stared in shock at the letter. It had only been a few days since Sebastian even found out about this! How had he managed to move so quickly?

"He did it!" he breathed. Then a wide, amazed smile appeared on his face as he turned his attention to Fleur. "He really did it!"

"Of course 'e did," she smiled back. "It was important to you, and zat is wizout considering ze 'orrible nature of ze injustice."

Harry nodded and stared back down at the letter. Granted, it took saving his daughter's life and effectively trapping her into marriage for this to happen, but still... He was away from the Dursleys; Snape would soon be gone if they had their way; and now Sirius was going to be free!

"The only reason I haven't answered that letter is you, Harry," said Sirius, his earlier joviality suddenly vanishing. "I want to be near you, and if I go to France..."

Harry's head snapped up, his eyes widening in horror, but Fleur got there first; she shook her beautiful head, sending pretty ripples through her silvery hair, and pinned Sirius with an amused smirk. "Eef you to go to France," she said, "zen you will see 'im quite frequently, Meester Black, I assure you. 'E 'as already been zere once last week."

Sirius blinked bemusedly.

By now, Harry's stomach had twisted itself in knots in fear that Sirius would reject the invitation. "Please, Sirius," he said hoarsely. "I need you to be safe, and they'll find you if you stay too long. Sebastian can protect you, and I swear I'll be okay."

Harry could not take his eyes off his godfather, who obviously had many questions, and for the first time that he could recall, he actually felt relief at someone's touch. Fleur's arms came around him from behind, pulling him close, her warm embrace keeping his panic at bay. He knew his fears weren't rational – Sirius was a grown man – but he didn't want to lose any more family, and he had the distinct sense that he was going to decline the offer!

"My fazzer is looking after 'im, Meester Black," came Fleur's soft musical voice, even as her chin came to rest on the crown of his head. "You will be able to see 'im much more frequently even zan you can now." She paused for a moment, before– "It is very important zat you stay safe. 'Arry needs you, and you cannot 'elp 'im if zey catch you."

Sirius' met Fleur's steady gaze over Harry's head, and he studied her for a long moment before finally nodding. "You're sure about this guy, Harry?" he asked tentatively. "No offense to your friend here, but I know nothing about him other than he's big in political circles."

"He's a good guy, Sirius," replied Harry earnestly. "We have a lot to tell you, but he's done more for me in the past week than anyone else ever has. He's trying to help you because I asked him to."

Sirius studied him for a long moment, and then his gaze flicked up to Fleur again before he finally shook his head and motioned for them to pull up a patch of dirt. "Maybe you'd better tell me what's going on," he decided. "I'm obviously missing something."

"Just tell me you'll do this," begged Harry. "Please!"

Sirius' brow creased in worry at Harry's tone, and he studied his godson as he lowered himself to the floor. Harry followed suit, and Fleur sat down behind him, once again wrapping him in her arms, and this time resting her chin on his shoulder. He soaked up her comfort as his nerves jangled in anticipation of his godfather's answer.

"Alright," nodded Sirius finally. "I'll go, but you need to tell me everything."

Sirius exchanged another look with Fleur over his head, and Harry blew out a relieved breath. "Thank you," he sighed. "It's a long story, Sirius. This all happened last week, which is why you don't know about it yet."

"Go on," urged Sirius.

Now that he had Sirius' tentative agreement – he was sure he couldn't find fault with the plan after the explanation – Harry felt his former good mood rapidly returning. A faint smirk came over him, his eyes twinkling mischievously as he stared back at his godfather. This was going to be interesting...

"Well," he said quietly, deciding to drop the bomb on him all at once. "First of all, I wasn't lying earlier. Fleur really is my fiancée."

Sirius blinked bemusedly at him. "I like pranks as much as the next guy, Harry," he said, "but somehow I just can't see Vernon and Petunia signing off on that."

Harry developed a vindictive grin at the mention. "Oh, they signed off alright," he said darkly. "On that and _so_ much more. They will never know what hit them."

His godfather's eyebrows shot into his hairline at that declaration. It was apparent that he could read the truth in Harry's eyes, because the disbelief had all but vanished, replaced with genuine confusion, and a fair bit of worry. He frowned for a moment before shifting to make himself more comfortable, and in the process he snagged the bag that they'd brought from the Three Broomsticks for him.

"Alright, Harry," he said seriously, "I think I need this one from the top."

"What do you know about the Second Task?" asked Harry without missing a beat.

Sirius shrugged. "Just what was in the papers," he admitted. "You tied for first, and showed up at the finish line with–" He broke off and blinked for a moment, and then slowly finished, "with the Beauxbatons Champion."

Fleur chuckled throatily at him. "Yes, Meester Black," she said in an amused tone, "I am ze Beauxbatons Champion."

Sirius blinked in surprise, and Harry continued. "She was attacked by grindylows in the lake," he explained. "I helped her out a bit, and it had... consequences."

Fleur gave him a squeeze. "You do not take enough credit, 'Arry," she sighed. Then to Sirius, "'E saved my life, Meester Black. I would 'ave died if 'e 'ad not been zere. Zat is why we must soon marry."

Sirius shook his head sharply as though to clear it. "Okay..." he said slowly. "First of all, it's Sirius or Padfoot. Now, I get the saving your life thing, that's just Harry–" Harry blushed "–but the whole marriage thing is going right over my head."

Fleur snorted in morbid amusement, and Harry frowned. Sirius Black of old undoubtedly knew what veela were, and he would have considered them perfect women! That he couldn't recognize one was worrisome; Azkaban must have done more damage than he initially thought.

"Er, Sirius?" he said slowly. "Haven't you noticed anything... _off_... about Fleur?"

Fleur chuckled at Harry's phrasing, the vibration of it running pleasantly up Harry's spine.

Sirius frowned. "You mean other than the fact that she's been tugging on my mind since I first laid eyes on her?" he asked with an arched eyebrow. "What is that, anyway? Feels like some kind of bloody aphrodisiac."

"Can you think of no being zat 'as such an effect on men, Padfoot?" asked Fleur softly.

His forehead creased in concentration as he contemplated the question, and Harry started to wonder if maybe some professional help wouldn't do him some good. While it was possible that he really didn't know what Fleur was, Harry somehow doubted it. And sure enough–

"Veela?" he breathed, his eyes going wide.

"Very good," nodded Fleur, her silky hair rubbing against Harry's cheek. "Do you understand why we must marry?"

Sirius stared at her for an interminable moment before finally shaking himself out of his shock and rubbing his face with his hands. The food had been all but forgotten, which was saying something since it didn't look like he'd been getting enough to eat. Harry waited patiently for him to collect himself, and then–

"Yeah, I get it," he admitted, fixing Harry with a worried look. "You sure you're okay with this, kiddo? It's an awfully big step."

Harry felt Fleur tense at the question, but he took a page from her book and gave her hands a squeeze where they were clasped over his belly. "I have to be, Sirius," he replied honestly. "But yeah, I think I'll be okay. Fleur and I have a lot to work out, but..."

He trailed off with a shrug, and Sirius searched his eyes for the truth. Harry held his gaze impassively; he'd made his decision, and knew that once his godfather was aware of that simple fact, he would support him. Besides, he couldn't see Sirius sacrificing Fleur's life any more than he himself could.

One would almost have to be a Dark Wizard to do something like that!

Finally, his gaze travelled over to Fleur. "What about you?" he asked simply.

Harry felt her give a small shrug. "It is not what I would 'ave chosen," she admitted quietly, "but if I must marry someone not of my choice, then I cannot zink of anyone I would rather be wiz zan 'Arry."

A rush of embarrassed pleasure overcame him at her calm, confident, and palpably honest words, and his cheeks heated in response. He had no idea why she would think that – he was just a kid with a lot of problems – but he could tell that she believed it. He wasn't sure how he should feel about it, but it did make him feel more than a bit honored.

But rather than say anything, he merely gave her hands another squeeze, though he could not fight the pleased smile that found its way to his lips.

Sirius shook his head at them in wonder. "Well, congratulations, then," he smirked. "I have to admit, kiddo, James would've been impressed."

Harry snorted. "Probably right after he finished going mental because his son'll be married in two weeks," he grumbled.

"Two weeks?" yelped Sirius. "You're only fourteen!"

"Zere is no choice, Padfoot," sighed Fleur. "I can already feel ze debt calling to me, and it will only get worse. I 'ave three, per'aps four weeks before it will take my magic, and I cannot survive without magic."

Sirius shook his head in defeat and finally reached for the food again. Nobody spoke as he dug through the bag, obviously still processing everything he'd just learned. Harry and Fleur remained silent, the latter tightening her grip on him and pressing her cheek up against his own, almost as though she was nervous about his reaction.

Not that Harry could blame her; he was nervous himself. Would Sirius be upset about it? While he wouldn't call it off – and he would support it in the end – it didn't mean that he would like it. Then again, Harry supposed that no adult in their right mind would like it...

Five minutes and several biscuits later, he finally sighed, breaking the tense silence.

"Alright," he said, "I guess there's nothing else that can be done about that?"

"Non," admitted Fleur nervously. "Unless I save 'is life in ze next few weeks..."

Sirius snorted morbidly. "Yes, because it's _so_ likely that it won't be the other way around," he said sarcastically. "But I digress. I guess this is how you met Seigneur Delacour?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he said. "He investigated me when he found out, and... he found some things, Sirius. Things that mean I can't trust Dumbledore."

Sirius paused in his attack on a defenseless chicken leg. "What things?" he asked through a deep frown.

Harry took a deep breath. This was the part he really didn't want to tell the man, but he needed to know – and it wasn't like there were any other options. And to be honest, Harry was happy with the way things were for the moment, and didn't want it to change.

That said, he had no idea how Sirius would react – but there was no time like the present...

"First of all, he found out how screwed up things were with the Dursleys," he said in a low tone. "When I said they signed off on a lot, I meant it. To make a long story short, he acted like he would do away with me if they signed over custody, and they did it."

Sirius surged to his feet upon hearing this, a thunderous scowl appearing on his face, and Harry instinctively pushed himself back into Fleur with quite a bit of force. For one crazy moment he thought that Sirius was going to lay into him, but then–

"_THEY TRIED TO HAVE YOU KILLED?_"he roared.

Harry paled.

"Zat is enough, Sirius," snapped Fleur. "Zey are being dealt wiz, and zere is no point in becoming angry."

Sirius' eyes narrowed dangerously at her. "How?" he rasped, reminding Harry abruptly that his godfather had a dark side. He was, after all, the man who had intended to kill Pettigrew for his betrayal...

"Zey are going to prison," she said simply. "We do not know any more zan zat. You would 'ave to ask Papa."

Sirius stared at her for a very long moment, and then closed his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Harry relaxed a little; he wasn't afraid of Sirius, but he still wasn't a big fan of loud, angry voices. It reminded him too much of Vernon...

Finally the man sat down again, and the look in his eyes was much saner when he opened them. "So he's your guardian now?" he asked, point blank.

Harry looked away, not wanting to see his reaction, and unable to prevent a small amount of guilt from intruding on his consciousness. "Yeah," he whispered. "He's been really good to me, Sirius."

There was a brief pause before–

"Look at me, kiddo," ordered Sirius calmly.

Harry hesitated for a moment, but then turned to look at Sirius – only to find a relieved look on his face, to his considerable surprise. "You trust him, right?" he asked calmly.

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I do," he admitted. "He's been straight with me."

"Then I'm glad, Harry," said Sirius quietly, reaching over to pat his knee. "I never liked those gits, and I've had more than one argument with Albus about it since I got out. As long as he treats you right, I'm fine with it."

Sirius looked him in the eye as he said it, and Harry had no choice but to believe. It relieved a fear that he hadn't even known he had, and he felt quite a bit lighter for it. Now all he had to do was tell him the rest.

"Thanks," he said quietly, "but that's not all."

Sirius frowned again. "Oh?" he asked warily.

Harry nodded. "How rich were my parents?" he asked simply.

Sirius blinked bemusedly at the non-sequitur. "Well," he said slowly, "they were pretty well off I suppose. Potter Manor was pretty impressive. Why?"

Harry was instantly distracted. "Potter Manor?" he frowned.

"I think it was destroyed in the war," said Sirius, motioning for him to get on with it. "I'm not sure, though."

He made a mental note to ask about that at some point, and then shook himself out of his momentary daze. "I didn't know about any of it, Sirius," he said darkly. "All I have is a small trust vault. And want to take a guess at who my financial guardian is?"

Sirius stared blankly at him, his face darkening alarmingly. "Albus?" he growled.

"Yes," said Harry flatly. "Sebastian is looking into it, but he says I should have a lot more than I do."

Harry watched his reaction closely. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and was clearly fighting to tamp down his anger at the revelation. Harry could relate; he'd felt much the same way when it registered with him, and he still didn't know what to do about it.

"He's checking into it?" asked Sirius hopefully.

"Yeah," confirmed Harry. "We're taking care of it after the wedding. There's too much going on right now to deal with it. Dumbledore doesn't know about any of this, by the way, and Sebastian thinks it should stay that way."

Sirius nodded, clearly overwhelmed. "He's probably right," he said darkly. "Anything else?"

Harry thought hard for a moment, but couldn't come up with anything, except–

"Only one more thing," he added, an evil smirk growing on his lips. "And you'll like this one, Padfoot. It'll be the best prank on Hogwarts in a long time."

Sirius' eyebrows went up. "Oh?" he challenged. "That's a tall order, Harry."

"How does getting Snivellus arrested sound?" he asked with an evil grin.

Sirius stared at him for a long moment, and then his own smile grew. "You're serious?" he asked hopefully.

"_Oui_," confirmed Fleur. "Papa is 'elping zem build ze case."

"He's going down, Sirius," said Harry, suddenly all business. "At least if we have anything to say about it. We won't let Dumbledore protect him this time. We're collecting memories from every student we can find, and we want to show them in court if we can pull it off. Sebastian thinks it'll work."

Sirius looked like Christmas had come early. Harry had not forgotten that they were bitter enemies in their childhoods, nor that the greasy bastard was one of the reasons that Pettigrew escaped last year. Had they not had to deal with Snape, things might have gone much more smoothly...

"Excellent," he said evilly. "Tell me more!"

Harry smirked, and they proceeded to spend the next hour discussing the coming downfall of Snivellus Snape. Now that all the important stuff had been covered, Harry found himself relaxing considerably. He hadn't realized just how worried he was about filling Sirius in – and he doubted that he'd heard the last of it – but it was nice to have it out in the open. There were few he could trust with the details.

In fact, other than the Delacours, Hermione was still the only other one who knew everything. He couldn't tell Ron – the boy couldn't keep a secret to save his life – but at least he had one friend he could truly trust. It made him realize just how much he valued her friendship, and he resolved to do something nice for her at the next available opportunity.

Soon the conversation drifted, and it wasn't long before Sirius started questioning Fleur to get to know her a bit. Harry fell silent at this, and found relaxing into her embrace, enjoying the way her chest vibrated against him as she spoke. He'd never been held like this before – _ever_ – and he hoped that it wouldn't be the last time.

Finally, though, the time came for them to return to school, and he was forced to give up his pleasant position and return to reality. It wasn't long before he'd exchanged a parting hug with his godfather and extracted another promise that he would head to France as soon as possible.

"I'll see you soon, kiddo," offered Sirius. "Keep in touch." And then to Fleur, he added, "and you take good care of him. He's the only godson I've got."

"You need not worry about zat," she replied with a genuine smile.

"We'd better get going," sighed Harry. "It's getting late, and we still have to hike back."

"Yeah, one more thing before you go," frowned Sirius, leaving Harry wondering at the sheepish expression he was wearing.

"What is it?" he asked.

Harry was surprised when Sirius turned to Fleur.

"Will you take the hexes off if I beg nicely? Tie died dog just doesn't blend in well."


	13. Dumbledore's First Clue

**A/N: Coming up on the 500th review, and I am absolutely _floored_ by the response! I never expected this to be so well received, and I can only hope that I can continue to keep you interested. Thank you again for all your support!**

**I should take a moment to note that, yes, I screwed up with Snivellus; Harry doesn't find out about that until OotP. We'll just assume for the sake of my little AU here that Moony and Sirius made comments in the Shack in PoA. It works that way, and I really like that nickname.**

**Roxoan: You are correct. Sebastian was referring to the fact that Fudge ignored eye witnesses who saw Pettigrew still among the living, and has a kiss-on-sight order for someone who never had a trial. As to height, Harry slouches a lot, and I see Fleur as taller. :-) Thanks for your continuing reviews :)**

**The pace will likely slow a bit toward my original 2-3 days per chapter prediction after this. I've just finished rejiggering the outline (There was no clear endgame, and that has now been fixed), and that pushed it up to around 50 chapters. It's reasonably solid through Ch26, with only three chapters (21-23) that I will likely rewrite from the ground up; the rest only need minor edits. Unfortunately, as I once noted to a reviewer, I do have a life that requires my attention, and I need a few chapters of buffer so I can continue to edit them a few times before posting.**

**And now, back to the story. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter 13**

Dumbledore's First Clue

Tuesday morning found Harry once again eating breakfast with the Gryffindors. The twins had become a regular fixture, and Neville was sitting with them as well. The latter was currently whispering soothingly to his new girlfriend, who looked like she was running on a serious lack of sleep.

And then Fleur trudged into the Hall looking much the same.

The difference was extremely subtle – a slight dimming of the usual glow her skin gave off, and unusual bleakness in her eyes – but it was there, and noticeable to Harry. He frowned in concern as she zeroed in on them. He really hoped she wasn't having second thoughts, not that he would blame her if she was.

Ron blanked out as usual as she slid silently into her seat, and – perhaps the biggest sign of all – Fleur didn't spare him so much as a second glance. All she did was give Harry a wan smile and start to dish up without another word.

Deeply concerned, Harry leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"You alright?" he asked.

Fleur turned and smiled a genuine smile at him. "I am just tired, 'Arry," she replied.

Harry studied her for another few moments, and to his relief, found no deception. He reached over cautiously and brushed a silvery strand of hair away from her crystal blue eyes, and smiled understandingly at her. He knew quite well what it was to go sleepless, thank you very much, and did not wish that upon anyone.

When he turned back to the table, though, it was all he could do not to scowl. For once, Ron wasn't sporting that dreamy, blank look he got when she was around – but the one he was wearing was even worse. It was a greedy, jealous look, and though he hid it quickly when he realized Harry was looking, Harry did not miss it.

He really wasn't certain what more he could do. While he could have spoken to Ron about it, he would have thought that by now that Ron would have learned his lesson. Why should he have to repeatedly defuse his friend's jealousy, when there wasn't even anything to be jealous of?

His impending marriage was fraught with complications, and it wasn't even by choice. True, he was starting to think he was getting something very good out of the deal, but why should anyone be jealous of him when he'd had his choices stolen away? What if she'd been the devil incarnate? Ron had no concept of what Harry's life was like.

Thankfully, his musings were shortly interrupted by the arrival of the mail. Hedwig was nowhere to be seen, but a handsome little tawney delivered a message to Fleur, and Harry recognized the parchment as the kind favored by the Delacour family.

Fleur read through it and then handed it to him. "We are going to be busy, 'Arry," she sighed tiredly.

Harry took the letter and read it for himself:

_Très chers enfants,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. Papa and I have recently completed the arrangements for your upcoming event. Barring unforeseen circumstances, it will take place on the twentieth of this month. We have chosen to host it at Chateau Delacour due to the short notice. I sincerely hope that this meets with both of your approval._

_Tradition dictates that we must send invitations one week prior to the event. Harry, this is different from the Muggle tradition, so do not concern yourself. Any friends you invite will come if they are able, and will not be offended by the short notice._

_Both of you should gather your lists and return them to us within two days. You may invite as many people as you wish. We certainly have the room._

_Good luck in school!_

_Tout notre amour,  
Maman & Papa_

He smiled genuinely at the fact that they included him so naturally in the letter, and a strange warmth overcame him. Was this what having a family was like? Even if the circumstances were strange, and even if the letter was essentially business, it still felt wonderful. He had never been included like this before.

Of course, Ron was his usual self.

"Whozzat from?" he asked nosily. "Whassit say?"

"I do not see 'ow zat is any of your business," scowled Fleur.

"I was asking Harry," frowned Ron, torn between his usual awe and a bit of irritation.

Harry sighed in irritation. "It's Fleur's letter, Ron," he said, forcing himself to sound as casual as he could. "If she doesn't want you to know, then you don't get to know."

"But you always tell me!" he whined.

Hermione had apparently had enough. "Oh, honestly, Ronald!" she burst. "Will you just grow up? The world does not revolve around you!"

The twins exchanged deep frowns, communicating in that strange way they had, and Harry had a feeling that Ron would get a talking to sooner or later. Not that it would do any good; if he wouldn't listen to his own friends, then why would he listen to the twins? It seemed to Harry that he would simply have to learn on his own, and that could take a while...

"Do you always have to act like such a know-it-all?" Ron spat back. "Bloody hell, Hermione, I wasn't even talking to you!"

Harry sighed and lowered his gaze to his plate as the row got going. He was really getting tired of it. And if Ron would only listen to the things Hermione said, he would be much better off. Very few Gryffindors could stand him, and it wasn't likely that he would end up with any more friends at the rate he was going.

At least he'd given up on talking about the Second Task, though; Harry had to admit that it was an improvement, even if it _was_ probably brought about by Fleur's frequent presence...

The twins conjured a scoreboard and kept score as the argument raged on between Ron and Hermione. Fleur, apparently too tired to take an interest, simply lay her beautiful head on Harry's shoulder, and he hesitantly put his arm around her. He wondered what was going on; she was usually so much livelier...

"Why were you up so late?" he whispered curiously.

"I was talking to 'ermione," she replied sadly. "She is very distressed over ze 'ate mail from zat 'orrible article."

Harry frowned at the thought. "We'll need to do something about that for you when we make our announcement," he whispered darkly.

"_Oui_," she sighed. "Papa will figure somezing out."

"_WELL MAYBE YOU SHOULD STOP ACTING LIKE SUCH AN ARSE!"_

Harry glanced up, startled by Hermione's uncharacteristic use of foul language. She was on the verge of storming away from the table – a rarity for her these days – and both she and Ron looked fit to be tied. A glance at the scoreboard showed Hermione winning by a landslide.

"She's got you there, Ronniekins," smirked a twin.

"Game, set, and match!" crowed the other.

The rather stunned expressions on his friends' faces when they caught sight of the scoreboard almost made Harry's morning worth it.

Probably fortunately, it was then that the doors to the Great Hall banged open, and a troupe of Aurors flooded the Hall in blood red robes. A hush swept across the room, and both Fleur and Harry turned around in their seats, curious as to what was going on. Neither had any idea.

The Aurors – including one with spiky pink hair who stood out like a sore thumb – were led by a stocky older woman who looked like she meant business. There was anger emblazoned on her features, and Harry found himself hoping that he wasn't involved. He really didn't need _that_ kind of trouble.

The head table was packed with the usual array of Headmasters and staff, and Dumbledore rose to meet the incoming force.

"What is the meaning of this?" he boomed across the Hall.

"Good morning, Headmaster," the woman boomed back in an equally strong voice. And then she promptly ignored him. "Severus Snape, please step forward."

"Excuse me?" hissed Snape from his position at the end of the table.

"Damn," breathed an awed twin. "Sebastian moves _fast!_"

Harry glanced at Fleur only to see a wide, vindictive smile on her face. It was only a moment later that he realized he was mirroring it: Snape was going down! He couldn't wait to see how this played out. He had to agree that Sebastian had moved quickly – it had only been a few days – but he was much more interested in watching the show.

The woman raised an eyebrow when Snape made no move to cooperate. "I am placing you under arrest for multiple counts of child abuse and endangerment, Mr. Snape," she said seriously. "Come forward and surrender your wand."

The silence from the students was complete, and Snape spluttered in disbelief, his face draining of the only bit of color that it had ever possessed. Dumbledore, on the other hand, looked positively alarmed.

"I'm afraid I cannot allow that, Amelia," he frowned. "Professor Snape has committed no crime, and is a recognized Professor at this school."

Hermione sucked in a breath. "He's going to defend him again!" she hissed angrily.

"It won't do any good," said the other twin with grim satisfaction. "She's head of the DMLE. Dad says she's a tough cookie, and she won't take no for an answer."

"We have overwhelming evidence of these crimes, Headmaster," retorted the woman in a ringing voice. "We will be interviewing the students over the course of the day. This is not a request, it is a demand, and it is the law!"

Dumbledore looked like he'd choked on a lemon drop, and Snape was surprisingly frightened as he stared entreatingly at his erstwhile benefactor. Harry snuck a glance at Maxime and Karkaroff, and saw them watching the scene in horrified fascination. He couldn't help that his smile widened a bit: this was going to be a nasty hit to Dumbledore's reputation!

He would find no sympathy in Harry after leaving him on the Dursley doorstep like so much refuse...

The standoff continued in tense silence for a few more moments before Dumbledore finally sighed. "Very well," he said. "Severus, for now you must accompany them. I will have the charges dropped as soon as possible." Turning back to the the woman, he added, "You will not interview the students, Amelia. This is sufficient disruption for one day."

"_Batard!_" breathed Fleur. "He does not listen!"

"He's too used to being in charge," scowled Harry.

"Excuse me, Dumbledore?" asked Amelia sharply. "You are obstructing justice! Do I need to arrest you as well?"

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "I am the Headmaster of this school, Amelia," he boomed, "and the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot which you serve. You will take your Aurors and leave the grounds immediately. We will discuss this in session tomorrow."

The pink-haired Auror snorted, and Amelia shot her a quelling look before turning back to the Headmaster. "I don't think so," she said flatly. "Or do you consider yourself above the law? Section 17, paragraph 3 of the Child Safety Act of 1780 declares that all allegations of child abuse or endangerment must be investigated post haste. Given that there are several _hundred_ counts, I will not be swayed on this issue. Do you not care for the safety of your students?"

"There is no abuse taking place at Hogwarts," said Dumbledore stiffly.

A fair number of students snorted; they obviously disagreed with that statement.

Amelia merely stuck her hand out to the pink-haired Auror, who dropped a scroll in it. She then unrolled it without taking her gaze from Dumbledore, and only glanced briefly at it before speaking. "Two hundred seventy-four current and former students have come forward with evidence to the contrary," she announced in a ringing voice. "I have never seen a more clear-cut case. Will you deny them justice?"

"Nice!" breathed a twin.

McGonagall and several other Professors allowed their jaws to drop, and then turned almost as one to stare accusingly at the Headmaster. Harry could almost see the conclusions forming in their minds: they had all tried to do something about Snape, and he had blocked all of their efforts; now it was coming home to roost...

For his part, realizing that he couldn't win this battle, Dumbledore deflated and sighed. "Very well," he said quietly. "You may perform your interviews, but please keep the disruption to a minimum. I will discuss the matter with the Wizengamot tomorrow."

Amelia motioned to her Aurors, and they immediately headed for Snape, who backed up several steps, but was at least wise enough not to draw on them. The expression on his face would be seared into Harry's memory for years to come: it was alternating between terrified and angry. Harry did not fail to notice that several students subtly spit on him as he passed.

"Do what you will, Dumbledore," said Amelia meanwhile. "This is out of their jurisdiction unless you plan to overturn centuries of child safety laws." Then she turned toward the Gryffindor table, and her eyes scanned along it until they landed on Harry, who couldn't help his instinctual reaction. He shrank back against Fleur, intimidated by the woman's discerning gaze.

"Mr. Potter," she intoned. "If you would accompany us, we would like to interview you first."

Harry nodded and pushed nervously to his feet, and to his surprise, Fleur did the same beside him. "May I join you, Madame?" she asked politely. "I do not wish for 'Arry to be alone for zis."

Harry was sure he imagined it, but he almost thought he saw a faint smile flicker across the woman's stern face. "That would be acceptable, Mademoiselle Delacour," she nodded. "You are his girlfriend, correct?"

Sharp intakes of breath spread throughout the Great Hall at the question, and in spite of himself, Harry had to stifle a laugh. Nobody had figured it out, even after they went to Hogsmeade together! It was priceless! Although, he hoped that Skeeter didn't find out...

Somewhere behind him, Hermione snorted in morbid amusement, but he ignored her.

"_Oui_, Madame," smiled Fleur, sending a quiet murmur through the students.

"I must insist on accompanying you also," announced Dumbledore suddenly. "I will need to represent my students."

Harry scowled at the prospect, but Amelia shrugged and motioned for Harry to follow. "As you wish, Headmaster," she replied, "but you will not interfere or we will remove and arrest you for obstruction of justice."

From the corner of his eye, Harry saw McGonagall rise as well, which wasn't altogether surprising. He ignored it and followed the woman out of the room, with Fleur gliding along in silent support beside him. He appreciated her presence; it made the situation seem less daunting somehow.

He was nevertheless vibrating with nerves by the time they entered a room on the second floor, only to find that two more Aurors were just finishing up the arrangements. Apparently, the woman covered her bases.

"Relax and have a seat, Mr. Potter," offered Amelia with surprising kindness. "This is an informal interview to determine what evidence you can provide, nothing more. You are not under suspicion in this or any other matter."

Harry smiled weakly at her and took the chair in front of the teacher's desk as she settled in behind it. Fleur promptly dragged another chair over, and he was comforted when she took his hand and gave it a squeeze. Dumbledore and McGonagall conjured chairs to the side. Meanwhile, the Aurors left the room to take up positions outside the door.

"Is this really necessary, Amelia?" asked Dumbledore before she could start. "Professor Snape has provided excellent service to the school for over a decade. There have never been any substantiated claims of misbehavior."

Harry couldn't help it: he snorted derisively.

"It's necessary," said Amelia shortly. Then she turned to McGonagall, who was eyeing the Headmaster with a narrow gaze. "And the reason for your presence, Professor?" she asked neutrally.

"I am Mr. Potter's Head of House," she said honestly. "I feel it is my duty to provide him with my support."

Amelia studied her for a moment before nodding, and then she turned to Harry. Her gaze was penetrating and made him squirm, but there was nothing terribly unfriendly about it. She simply watched him for a moment, as though sizing him up.

And before she could begin, Dumbledore interrupted, _again_. "Have Mr. Potter's guardians been contacted for permission to give this interview?" he asked knowingly.

Amelia slowly turned to Dumbledore with anger burning behind her eyes. "Mr. Potter does not stand accused, Dumbledore," she growled slowly. "His guardians do not need to be contacted."

"He will need their permission if he is to testify," stalled Dumbledore. "That is the law in this matter, and I do not believe that the Dursleys will grant their permission. The interview is therefore unnecessary."

"His guardians _have_ been contacted," scowled Amelia, "not that it is any business of yours. He has their permission to handle the matter as he sees fit."

"I would know if the Dursleys were contacted," he frowned. "I can assure you that they were not."

Amelia shot Harry a warning look just as he was about to open his mouth to rip into the old man, and then she smirked at Dumbledore in obvious enjoyment. "Well, I don't know how you missed our visit, but Mr. Potter's guardians did indeed give their permission. Now, if we can get on with this? I don't have all day."

Harry smirked as he suddenly understood. They were keeping him in the dark about the change of guardianship! He felt a certain amount of vindictive pleasure at the knowledge that, for once, he knew more than Dumbledore did about something.

When she finally turned away from Dumbledore, Amelia once again settled her gaze on Harry. "I understand that you provided two memories to the initial investigation, Mr. Potter?" she asked after a moment.

Dumbledore sat up straighter in his seat, and a glimmer of anger appeared in his eyes. Harry, however, ignored it. "Yes ma'am," he nodded. "My first Potions class with him, and my most recent."

"When did this happen?" demanded Dumbledore.

Amelia glared at him. "Silence!" she snapped.

Then she turned back to Harry as though the interruption had not taken place. "Has Professor Snape ever acted in an abusive manner toward you or your fellow students?" she asked.

But Fleur spoke up before he could answer. "If I may, Madame," she said softly, "could you per'aps provide us wiz your definition of abuse?"

Amelia looked surprised, but then she smiled and nodded approvingly. "You make a good point, Mademoiselle, thank you," she nodded. And turning back to Harry she said, "By abuse I mean intimidating behavior, verbal insults, inappropriate physical contact, obvious favoritism, or extreme punishments of any kind, physical or otherwise."

Dumbledore frowned at her description, but did not dispute it, and Harry nodded his understanding. Giving Fleur's hand a thankful squeeze, he paused to order his thoughts as he decided how to answer the question for maximum impact. Finally, he settled on a strategy.

"He's never touched me, ma'am," he admitted, causing Dumbledore to nod approvingly at him. But then he dropped the proverbial bomb. "But as to the others, I would have to say yes to all of them."

Dumbledore opened his frowning mouth, but Amelia beat him. "Can you provide me with examples?" she requested.

"Yes, ma'am," he nodded politely. "He regularly insults my parents and me to my face, and he's pretty harsh with the other students too, unless they're in Slytherin. He leaves them alone. He's also well known for taking points and giving me detention because someone else blew up their cauldron, which he likes to blame on me. And honestly, ma'am, he hasn't taught them how _not_ to blow up their cauldrons. I've had more than one four-hour detention from him for that kind of incident."

"Surely you exaggerate, Harry," interrupted Dumbledore. "Professor Snape would not take points or give detentions unnecessarily."

Harry scowled deeply. "Are you calling me a liar, sir?" he asked in a dangerous tone.

"I am sure that you are merely mistaken," replied Dumbledore serenely. "Perhaps you have not realized the magnitude of your transgressions. Many students do not."

"Do you want to see it in a Pensieve?" he hissed angrily. "Or do you care so much about him that you won't even give us the time of day?" Then he paused for a moment before– "Why are you so afraid of having him investigated, Professor?" he challenged. "Is it because he's a Death Eater?"

McGonagall sucked in a sharp breath at the accusation, and apparently Dumbledore had hit his limit. He puffed up and rose to his feet, before– "That will be detention and fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," he said sternly. "I will not tolerate disrespect from students toward the Professors."

Amelia merely raised an eyebrow at Dumbledore, completely unimpressed by his posturing. She then grabbed a blank parchment and a quill and started writing something as she spoke. "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," she intoned. "You are hereby charged with obstruction of justice and intimidation of a material witness in an active felony case."

"This is a school-related matter, Amelia," replied Dumbledore condescendingly. "I am permitted to punish my students as I see fit."

"Not when they are being interviewed for a criminal case, Dumbledore, as you well know," retorted Amelia. "The charge stands, and I will provide a certified memory of this incident at your trial. You will be notified of the date in due course. Now, you will leave this room or be arrested, and I am ordering you to have minimal contact with my witnesses, or I will bring additional charges of coercion and illegal intimidation. Am I clear?"

Dumbledore was stunned by her speech, and Harry guessed that it had been a long time since anyone had dared to go against him. He was used to being the king of his castle, and pretty much in control of the entirety of Wizarding Britain through the Wizengamot and the court of public opinion. It felt surprisingly good to see that someone was willing to take the kind of risk that Amelia was taking at the moment.

"Yes," he said stiffly. "You are clear. I see that I cannot dissuade you from this foolishness."

"The only foolishness here is your continuing defense of a convicted Death Eater who abuses his students, Dumbledore," scowled Amelia. "Now leave so I can conduct this interview in peace!"

As Dumbledore stalked from the room, Harry took a moment to observe McGonagall. She was flabbergasted! Her jaw was hanging open, and as she stared after the Headmaster, her look of utter betrayal was almost painful. Harry felt a small amount of sympathy for her, though it didn't excuse her own lack of action...

"Am I going to have similar problems with you, Professor?" asked Amelia, drawing his attention back to her.

McGonagall shook herself out of her daze. "No, Director Bones," she said quietly. "But if I may, I would like to take Mr. Potter up on his offer to see the evidence. If Albus has been covering something like this up, I need to know so I can minimize the damage to the students."

Amelia studied her long enough that she started to squirm, before finally turning to Harry. "The choice is yours, Mr. Potter," she offered.

Harry looked down for a moment in thought. He actually liked McGonagall, and didn't want her to be on Dumbledore's side of this. But he needed to know where she stood. Whether he respected her or not, he needed to protect his interests, especially now that they affected Fleur along with him.

"Where is your loyalty, Professor?" he asked quietly after a moment.

McGonagall frowned. "I'm not certain that I understand your question, Mr. Potter," she admitted.

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. "I need to know if I can trust you," he said finally, spearing her with an assessing gaze. "Snape has done a lot of damage and I want him out, but I won't give the Headmaster any ammunition, so if you're just going to tell him what you learn..."

He let the statement hang, and Amelia gave a nod of agreement. McGonagall looked taken aback for a moment, but then she turned thoughtful, and he could see her thinking through her experiences with the venerable Albus Dumbledore. Finally she nodded to herself, and turned back to Harry.

"I give you my word as a Witch, Mr. Potter," she said solemnly, "that my only interest in this matter is to see the students protected. I will not willingly share any information about the case with Albus Dumbledore or his supporters without your consent. So mote it be."

To Harry's shock, the oath took hold with a white nimbus of light that appeared around her. She had taken a _real_ magical oath! That was extremely rare, and meant that she was beyond serious about helping him. His respect for her increased by several notches.

"Thank you, ma'am," he whispered, feeling a bit guilty for doubting her. "I'm sorry, it's just– I have to protect myself, and the Headmaster hasn't been doing a very good job of it."

McGonagall's brow furrowed in confusion. "I hope you know that you can come to me, Harry," she said with unusual informality. "I will not deny that I have obviously let things go too far, but I promise you that I will try to do better in light of what I've seen today."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Sebastian was right about you," smirked Amelia suddenly. "You are quite a remarkable young man, Mr. Potter." And then, turning to Fleur, she ordered, "And you had better take good care of him, Mademoiselle, or I will be _most_ displeased."

Harry couldn't help his snort of amusement, and Fleur grinned at her. "_Oui_," she smiled. "Of zat you may be assured."

McGonagall cocked an eyebrow, but fortunately, she didn't ask.

"Now that we have the showmanship out of the way," grinned Amelia suddenly, "Let's talk about our case!"


	14. The Horrible Truth

**A/N: Another mixed bag. This is another case where I went to post, and decided I couldn't stand the chapter – and again it got split in two. I really hate it when that happens, because I have to go fix all the bookmarks in my document when I insert chapters in the middle. :| But alas, I think it's an important scene that was glossed over in the original version. Again, not as much scrutiny as usual, but hopefully you'll think it worthwhile... Me, I'm six of one, half dozen of the other :) Then again, I'm never satisfied with my own work...**

**Nearly 100 reviews on the last chapter! I do not have the words to express my undying gratitude! :-)**

**[gratuitous edit: several people reported that FF broke this chapter. Deleted and re-added, hopefully this will fix it.]**

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**Chapter 14**

The Horrible Truth

Contrary to the powerful appearance she gave off in the Great Hall, Amelia Bones turned out to be a very personable woman. Her stern edge was not unlike Professor McGonagall's, it just wasn't as severe unless she wanted it to be. While the interview was long and involved, it was more of a meeting of the minds than anything else.

While Harry was surprised that the arrest had taken place so soon after disclosing the problem to Sebastian, he soon learned that there was a very good reason for it. Sebastian's first action was to take the memories to Amelia for her viewing displeasure, and she was truly steamed by what she saw. She immediately assembled a team of Aurors to investigate – only to discover that it wasn't strictly necessary.

Many of the younger members of the department had also once been students of Severus Snape, and were witnesses in and of themselves.

The assigned Aurors had then canvassed the Department of Magical Law Enforcement – and indeed the rest of the Ministry – in the space of two days, gathering names and memories as they went. It wasn't a long process, and when combined with what the twins gathered over the Hogsmeade weekend, having an arrest warrant issued was a slam dunk. They never even had to look to the general populace.

Harry was surprised by this, but he really shouldn't have been. It was quite simple when he thought about it: Snape had essentially been digging his own grave, makings consummate enemies of three quarters of British magical society during their young and impressionable years. Nobody was going to miss the chance to pay him back for all the abuse; Harry was merely the pebble that started the landslide.

Though the atmosphere was much more pleasant after the Headmaster left, Harry still greatly appreciated Fleur's presence. She stayed close to him the entire time, and defused his bouts of temper with surprising ease. Apart from that, she just listened silently, having recognized that the interview had little to do with her.

The meeting ended just before lunch, and the mood in the castle was jovial, to say the least. While most Slytherins were sullen and angry, as could be expected, the rest of the school was positively buoyant. The students universally celebrated the fact that they would not have Potions with Snape for the foreseeable future – if ever again – and it was infectious.

Of course, the incident also had other repercussions that were much less pleasant.

For one, the rumor mill no longer needed to spread Harry's status as Fleur's boyfriend, and everywhere he went, people were talking about it. He could not escape the giggling girls – or the scowling ones – and it was truly irritating. He imagined that Fleur was probably having much the same problem with the boys, not that that was different from any other day.

Hermione was a godsend, constantly deflecting questions and comments. Lavender and Parvati were the worst offenders: they badly wanted gossip fodder, and Harry was disinclined to give it to them. In the end, Hermione had to threaten to have a prefect deduct points to get them to leave him alone.

The real downturn, however, was when Fleur held him back as they were leaving the Great Hall that evening.

She was unusually quiet during dinner, and did not participate in the conversation. For most of the meal she stared off into space, her distant gaze on nothing in particular. Occasionally Harry would catch calculating looks from her, but he didn't think it anything bad – it was more like she was puzzled by something, and he could admit that he was a bit curious.

Then, as they were walking through the Entrance Hall, she gently dragged him to a halt and signaled for Hermione to go on without them. Of course, Ron was a bit more thickheaded about it and had to be dragged away, but that was no great surprise. The twins had long since vanished to their next troublemaking endeavor, and Neville was stuck to Hermione like glue, so they were no trouble.

She waited until the Hall was mostly clear of students, and then–

"'Arry, is zere somewhere we can talk?" she asked nervously.

Harry frowned up at her. "Sure," he shrugged. "Where do you want to go?"

"Somewhere private?" she requested. "I do not zink you will want ozzers to 'ear zis."

Her reticence unnerved him, but he nevertheless nodded and beckoned for her to follow. There were few truly private places in the castle, and the kitchens would be their best bet on this occasion; the elves would be busy cleaning up after dinner, and no student would be hungry enough to wander in for a snack. It was one of the places in the castle where one could speak relatively freely, at least if one was on good terms with the elves.

In spite of the situation, Fleur's curiosity was evident as he led her to the painting that hid the entrance. A small smile appeared on her face when the pear giggled and turned into a doorknob, which gave him a small amount of comfort. Whatever she wanted to discuss, it wasn't so bad that it had completely dimmed her enjoyment of life.

Perhaps fortunately, Dobby was apparently off cleaning somewhere, so there wasn't an overexcitable House Elf to deal with on this occasion.

He requested tea for two from the one that did approach him, and led her to a small table in the back of the room where they could speak comfortably. Silence reigned for several minutes while she collected her thoughts; the only sound was the distant clinking of dishware as the elves went about their business. She appeared to be very disturbed by something, which worried him.

"Fleur?" he prompted after a while. "Is something wrong?"

She turned to him with a heavy sigh and hesitated, absently spinning her teacup with her fingers. As she studied him, he reflected that he'd never before seen her so nervous. It reminded him of how he felt when he asked her out, but he doubted that it had such a pleasant cause. And sure enough–

"I am not sure 'ow to ask zis," she said plaintively. "Papa told us not to discuss it wiz you, but..."

Harry stared blankly at her for a long moment, his cheeks losing color as her meaning sunk in.

There was only one thing he could think of that Sebastian had asked the family not to question him on, and it was nothing good. He'd known this was coming – they were getting married, and she would eventually find out – but he was completely unprepared. He hadn't expected it to be so soon.

But as he thought it through, he realized that he couldn't deny her this. Had anyone else asked, he would have shut the conversation down without hesitation, but this was different. Whether he wanted to talk about it or not, Fleur was going to be his wife, and there was no getting around that fact. Didn't she have a right to know what she was getting into?

Harry knew full well that he was not a normal bloke, and that he had no concept of things like family and love. One of his greatest fears, in fact, was that because of it, he might not be able to give her the life she deserved – or worse yet, that he might turn out like the Dursleys. He had to tell her about it, if only so she could be prepared.

Pulling himself out of his reverie, and forcing down his emotions, he met her gaze again. "You want to know about my relatives, right?" he asked tentatively.

Fleur nodded hesitantly. "You were not 'appy when ze 'eadmaster mentioned zem," she said, and then her voice fell in volume. "What 'appened, 'Arry? What did zey do to you?"

Suspicions confirmed, he closed his eyes and sighed heavily. If there was any one subject that he despised talking about, it was this one, but it was unavoidable. The problem was, he wasn't at all ready to tell her about it. He'd barely known her for a week in any meaningful context, and even Hermione, who had known him for so many years, was completely unaware of this particular truth about his life before Hogwarts.

Surprisingly, though, even searching deep within himself, he found no real fear. If her father was any indication, she would not react badly, or at least not toward him. She would undoubtedly be angry with the Dursleys, but then, who wouldn't be?

Sucking in a deep breath, Harry forced himself to open his eyes again. Her brow was crinkled in concern, quite obviously directed squarely at him. Why she cared so much was one of the biggest questions he had about her, but he told himself that he would find the answer in due time.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked hesitantly. "It's not pleasant."

Fleur nodded, never breaking his gaze. "It affects you greatly," she said. "I wish to understand."

Harry stared at her in silence for a long moment before finally looking away. "You know they were my guardians before, right?" he asked quietly.

"_Oui_," she confirmed, "and I understand zat zey did not want you, but I do not understand why, or what zey did to you."

Harry nodded absently, distracted by her simple statement. Why _didn't_ the Dursleys want him? Why did they treat him so badly? That was one of his burning questions, and one that he expected he would never have a proper answer to. Was it even worth knowing?

"I don't know why either," he admitted softly, "but Dumbledore left me on their doorstep after my parents died, and I don't know why they kept me. Vernon used to threaten me with the orphanage, but he never actually went through with it for some reason."

Closing his eyes again for a moment, Harry let the memories wash over him. He could clearly recall his terror at those threats when his young mind imagined an even more horrifying place, but in retrospect, it would have been best if the bastard had gone through with it. No matter if it was the worst orphanage in Britain, his life would undoubtedly have been more pleasant than it was on Privet Drive.

When he opened them again, Fleur was still watching him silently, concern etched into her beautiful features. For once, he was tempted to drop his barriers and allow her allure to overcome him just so he wouldn't have to talk about this, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

"They weren't nice people," he sighed, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "They– They hate me, Fleur. And I don't mean they dislike me. They out and out _hate_ me."

Fleur reached the short distance across the table and took his hand, and the comfort he felt at the gesture made him close his eyes again, even as he continued. "It's- It's hard to talk about," he whispered.

"You do not 'ave to," she said gently. "I will not force you, but I would like to know."

Eyes still closed, Harry nodded; he would not escape this conversation, and even if he did, it would only happen later. Wasn't it better to get it out of the way now? Then, at least, he would no longer have to worry about it...

"To them I was- I was just a _freak_," he whispered bitterly. "I was a worthless burden they had to put up with. They didn't even give me a bedroom; I slept in a broom cupboard until I got my Hogwarts letter."

"You slept in a broom cupboard?" came her horrified whisper.

"Yeah," he sighed. "And giving me that cupboard was probably the nicest thing they ever did for me."

Fleur made a strangled noise, and her grip on his hand tightened, but Harry tuned it out as he tried to master his tangled emotions. It was, in some ways, easier to actually be in the situation than it was to talk about it. Talking meant that had to think about it, and thinking meant that he would feel.

For so long he had avoided feeling anything at all on the subject, because it was the only way he could survive. Had he allowed himself to actually deal with those emotions in his younger years, he probably would either have run away and died on the streets, or simply killed himself in a desperate act of self-preservation, as ironic as that would have been. He could recall the many times he'd spent in that cupboard staring at the ceiling, wondering if he would see his parents again when he died...

The silence stretched as his thoughts wandered, until finally Fleur gave his hand a gentle squeeze to remind him of her presence. He took a deep breath and did his best to center himself. The sooner this was over, the better, and so he screwed up his courage and forced the hurt as far away as he could manage.

"I was pretty much their slave, Fleur," he finally said with a resigned sigh. "I did the cooking, the cleaning... Whatever they wanted. And if I screwed up..."

There was a brief silence, before– "What?" her soothing whisper washed over him. "What did zey do to you?"

Harry opened his mouth to answer, but found that he was momentarily at a loss for words. How did one describe such things? He could not make them any less horrifying than they were, but no words would ever do it justice. It was too horrible.

"They beat me," he whispered hoarsely in the end. "If I burned the food, they beat me. If I dropped a plate, or even just made a noise..." Shaking himself out of his pain-filled memories, he forced some strength back into his voice. "It's just the way it was," he decided. "Like I said, they weren't nice people."

But as hard as he tried to be strong, his voice still cracked. He dimly registered that he had never before spoken of this with anyone. Even Sebastian had gotten it directly from the Dursleys, and so far as Harry was aware, he and Director Bones were the only two other people who knew, at least if you didn't count the Dursleys themselves.

Strangely, it felt good to have admitted it to someone.

He wasn't sure why, but even without knowing Fleur's reaction, he felt vaguely lighter for the experience. There was so much more to say – so much more that would explain the sheer horror of his existence prior to Hogwarts – but even just admitting that much was a surprising relief. Not that it made it any easier to handle...

He expected either an angry or disgusted reaction from her, but he got neither. Instead her hand disappeared from his, making his stomach sink, and he dared not open his eyes to see what she was thinking. But then, a moment later, he felt the bench shift beneath him, and her arms wrapped around him in a warm and comforting embrace.

Her hand came up as she pulled him close, gently cradling his head as he rested it against her chest, and it was only then that he realized that his cheeks were damp. Tears were not something he was very familiar with – they were not tolerated by the Dursleys – but a few had leaked out, to his own surprise. It was all he could do to keep the flood at bay as she held him.

"I am so sorry," she whispered in his ear, her own voice catching painfully. "I 'ad no idea it was so bad."

"That's not the half of it," he whispered back. "They blamed me for– for _everything_. I– I don't–"

"Ssshhhhh," she interrupted soothingly. "It is over now. You will never go back to zose _batards_. Papa will not allow it, and neizzer will I."

Harry nodded faintly and lost himself in the comfort she was offering. He wasn't certain what he should be feeling; part of him was relieved at having actually said it, and another part was horrified that she knew. All he could do was pray that it would not end up hurting him in the end.

The silence continued for a long while, and though they drew curious glances from the elves, they were thankfully left to their own devices. Fleur simply held him, saying nothing, and Harry allowed himself to enjoy her soothing warmth. It was surprising how good it felt.

Finally, though, she pulled back, and he opened his eyes to find her looking nervously at him once more.

"'Arry," she began haltingly, "does it– does zis bozzer you?" She swallowed a lump before clarifying, "Being 'eld?"

Harry's brow furrowed as he considered the question. Had she asked him that two weeks ago, his answer would have been undeniably affirmative, but then she came along and changed everything. He doubted that he would ever be comfortable like this with Hermione, but Fleur was different in ways that he didn't even begin to understand.

"I don't think so," he said distantly. "I think– I think I like it, actually, it's just–" Frowning, he searched for the words to explain what he was feeling. "I didn't know it could feel like this," he admitted softly. "It's just– _different_, with you."

Fleur smiled gently at him. "I am glad," she told him as one of her hands came up to cautiously brush his cheek. "I do not want to make you uncomfortable."

"You don't," he said honestly. "That's why it's weird."

Fleur's smile widened slightly, and with great difficulty, Harry forced himself back to reality. They'd been here for a while, and it was likely well past curfew. He needed to get back to the tower before one of the teachers came across them.

"Could you– could you not tell anyone?" he requested tentatively. "About my relatives, I mean? I don't want people knowing about it."

"Of course," she nodded. "It is your secret, 'Arry. I will not tell anyone else."

"Thanks," he sighed. "We should probably get going before we get in trouble."

Fleur agreed only reluctantly, but soon they were making their way out of the kitchen. She held his hand all the way back to the Entrance Hall, where she paused only long enough to brush his bangs back off his forehead and smile at him. "I will see you in ze morning," she offered. "Thank you for telling me."

"You're welcome," he said simply.

When they separated, Harry made his way back to the tower in a daze. Fleur was confusing at the best of times – let alone the situation they were in – but the more he saw of her, the more he thought he could really like her. Whatever had just happened, it had left him with a warm glow, even if he was still a bit strained and emotional, and he couldn't explain it.

All he knew for certain was that he wanted more of it, preferably without all the angst.


	15. Fleur's Sorrow

**A/N: Sorry 'bout the trouble with the last chapter; FFN ate my homework, and I had to repost it. That said, here's your bonus chappie: the other half of what was originally Ch14. Usual disclaimer about last-minute chapters applies. Next update will probably be on Saturday or Sunday.**

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**Chapter 15**

Fleur's Sorrow

They say that ignorance is bliss, and Fleur could not disagree with the sentiment. She felt bad for cornering Harry as she had two days prior, but after hearing the Dursleys mentioned in the interview – and gathering that Dumbledore was involved with them somehow – she could not stop herself. And now she knew beyond doubt what his childhood was like, and was horrified.

Of course, it had not all been Harry's doing. She recognized early on that he had not truly said much – only enough to confirm her suspicions, and to clue her in that he was still deeply affected by his past – but rather than press him for details, she had spoken with her father. And what she learned was far worse than anything she could have imagined.

After trying to dissuade her, he finally gave in and told her some of what he witnessed in Vernon's mind. Tale after tale of slavery and torture flowed from his mouth, and she found herself wondering how Harry could even have survived it. Her only consolation was that her father flat out refused to show her the memories – which she was now very thankful for after hearing the stories.

How anyone could live through that, and still be as kind and gentle as Harry, was a complete mystery to her. It only underscored how special he was, and just what Fate had blessed her with in their upcoming marriage. She no longer had any doubt that he would give her a happy life; it was simply who he was, down to his very soul.

But that left her wondering what exactly Fate was giving him in return.

Near as she could tell, she was getting the better end of the deal by far. Sure, she was beautiful, and perhaps even smart, but that was the only special thing about her. She did not have the same noble streak that he did, nor his unparalleled strength and bravery. She was just an ordinary person with a lot of social baggage.

Harry deserved so much more, but there was nothing she could do about it. Her only alternative was to accept death, and that was no longer an option. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that she was actually willing to do so for his sake – which frightened her – but her death would utterly destroy him, simply because knew that he could have prevented it.

His whole life had been stolen away from him from the very beginning. After losing his parents, he was placed in a home that was not merely loveless, but instead full of hatred toward him. He had no pleasure in his childhood like most children did, and it was a miracle that those people had not outright killed him, to hear her father tell it.

And now he was having his future stolen away as well, and that did not sit well with her, especially since she was the one who was stealing it. Never would he have the opportunity to go out in the world and find love for himself. Never would he have the joy capturing the heart of some lucky woman. He no longer had a choice.

He would already be married when his friends were out cavorting in bars and taverns, "chasing tail" as the Muggles would say. He would be facing family issues while they lived carefree lives, and would only be able to watch from the sidelines. His fate was sealed, his choices made for him by some unfeeling cosmic force.

Fleur would offer him everything she could, but would it ever be enough to make up for what he was sacrificing?

These thoughts had been running through her head for two days now, and she couldn't shake them. It was all she could do to keep them off her face during meals, which were almost the only times she could see him. So far her efforts appeared to have been successful, but she wouldn't have been surprised if Harry knew that something was bothering her; he was perceptive that way.

Nothing was different when Friday morning rolled around, and once again she did her best to push her dark thoughts to the side as she approached the table for breakfast.

Hermione smiled when she caught sight of her, and Ron's reaction was the same as it always was. The twins were chatting quietly with each other – probably up to some prank – and Neville kept his gaze fixed firmly on his girlfriend, most likely to avoid the pull of Fleur's allure. And then Harry turned around, and a small, shy smile lit his face.

"_Bonjour, ma belle déesse fleur,_" he greeted quietly.

Fleur smiled delightedly, and gave him a peck on the cheek in greeting as she slid into the seat next to him. "Beautiful flower goddess?" she echoed back in amused English.

"Sounded good at the time," he shyly shrugged. "It's true, isn't it?"

Fleur chuckled, pleased by his good mood. "Per'aps," she replied noncommittally. And then she added, "_mon beau héros._"

His forehead scrunched up in concentration, before– "My handsome hero?" he asked tentatively, even as a blush suffused his cheeks.

Fleur's eyes widened. "_Oui, _I am impressed!" she said with a bright smile.

"Me too," smirked Hermione, "but I think he's only looking up terms of endearment."

Fleur snorted, grinned at Harry, and gave him another peck on the cheek; the compliment he'd given her was easily worth the reward.

And then Ron had to go and ruin the moment again by making gagging sounds.

Harry turned to glare at him, and Fleur closed her eyes, her lips tightening into a thin line. The boy was getting on her last nerve; she was rapidly reaching her limit. If he wasn't careful, he would earn a dose of her temper rather than merely her usual attitude, which would not be fun for him. She could only hope that Harry wasn't too put out with her when it happened.

_When_, not _if_, of this she was certain.

"Knock it off, Ron!" scowled Hermione. "How would you like it if we did that to you?"

And Fleur just couldn't resist. "Zat would require 'im to 'ave a girlfriend first, 'ermione," she said archly, pinning the idiot boy with a stare. "I do not zink 'e will evair 'ave to worry."

Ron flushed in anger and scowled at her, seemingly at a loss for words, even as several nearby girls nodded their agreement. The twins sniggered loudly and winked at her for her troubles. Hermione and Neville both smirked, the former nodding sagely. And Harry–

Well, Harry focused stubbornly on his breakfast.

He did this frequently when she came out with a nasty comment for Ron, and now that she understood his past a bit better, she understood why. Her father hinted that the Dursleys never allowed him to have friends, and his cousin chased off the other children at school. The baby whale even bragged about it to his parents, and they praised him for it!

He was completely friendless his whole life, and then he had the mixed fortune of meeting Ron Weasley.

Simply put, Harry did not want to lose his first friend. Never having had one prior to Hogwarts, he viewed all friendships as precious, something to be cherished. And though it was likely that this one was doing more harm than good at this point, she suspected that it would be a while before he was finally willing to cut his losses.

The saddest part of the whole thing was that Ron actually had a fair amount of potential. By all accounts, he was a good friend to Harry in the early years, and the roughness around the edges was easily excused because of his age. But he stubbornly refused to grow up, and the constant jealousy and insensitivity was quickly eroding their relationship.

It was no surprise that he had not yet been informed of their predicament. The moment he learned of it, his jealousy would likely soar to new heights, and that would be disastrous. She was uncertain how Dumbledore might react to the situation, and she did not want to find out – but there was no doubt that he would learn of it if Ron was told.

But before she could get any farther in that train of thought, she was startled out of her reverie by a condescending voice, speaking in her native language.

"Why are you sitting with these losers?"

The stream of French – or the actual question, depending on who was doing the listening – halted all conversation at the table, including Hermione's current argument with Ron. Hermione herself turned narrowed eyes on the girl standing behind Fleur, though she remained silent. The twins and Neville simply watched, while Harry continued eating, though a frown did appear on his lips.

Margeaux, the girl who issued the question, was very angry over the loss of the opportunity to become the Beauxbatons Champion, and never failed to let it be known. She wasn't bad looking – tall, with blue eyes and long blonde hair that made her look like a wannabe veela, and possessed of an attractive figure – but her expression usually ruined her appearance.

Of course, the entirety of the Beauxbatons contingent at Hogwarts was now firmly on her side. With Fleur's dismal performance in the Tournament, and the fact that she had been avoiding them completely for more than a week now, they would all quite happily tar and feather her given half the chance. Not that she cared; none of the students at Beauxbatons had ever been friendly with her in the first place.

She was finding more acceptance among Harry's small group than she had since she was twelve.

"Zey are better company zan you are, Margeaux," she replied in English without turning.

"Why must you speak in that horrible language?" the girl scowled.

Fleur sighed; Margeaux was spoiling for a fight, and it looked like she would have to oblige. Unfortunately, she knew what this was really about: Harry Potter. Her schoolmates were upset not only that she was dating an opposing Champion, but also that she had somehow managed to snag the most desirable boy in the entirety of the Wizarding world. His age mattered not; it was the principle of the thing.

Cursing softly to herself, she finally turned in her seat to spear the girl with a _look_, unsurprised to see several other Beauxbatons girls standing around her.

"Because it would be impolite not to," she said flatly. "Or did your muzzer not teach you proper manners?"

"These idiots are no more polite," snarled Margeaux, still in French. "They're barbarians! They can't find the proper end of a wand! And you sully yourself by sitting with them?"

"Hush, little girl," said Fleur condescendingly, stubbornly refusing to match her language. "Someday you will understand ze true nature of ze world, but it will be many years before you will be ready for such adult concepts."

Harry eyed the girl with distaste and finally spoke up, his voice as soft as ever, but with a slight patronizing edge. "Maybe we should offer classes in spoken English," he mused. "She seems to understand it well enough, but I don't think she can speak it."

"You are so pathetic," Margeaux spat at Harry, and then she turned back to Fleur. "Too bad you're limited to dating little boys!"

Harry snorted and, to Fleur's surprise since the girl was still speaking French, responded without missing a beat. "Pathetic?" he echoed bemusedly. Turning to Fleur, he continued, "Is that really the best she can do?"

Hermione's smirk was audible as she added, "And if she thinks Fleur can't get any date she wants, then she's dumber than she looks. Little boys! Honestly!"

"Too right!" gushed Ron, usefully for once.

"I think she's just jealous–" began a twin.

"–because Harrykins is the ultimate prize–" inserted the other.

"–and Fleur is the only one–"

"–he even looks twice at–"

"–even though he's completely–"

"–immune to her charm!"

Margeaux was positively mortified when she realized that the British students understood her language perfectly – or so it appeared – and were unaffected by her comments. She clearly had not been willing to risk offending their hosts, but had badly miscalculated. Her jaw dropped open in horror as she stared back at them.

"Now run back home to your muzzer, little girl," said Fleur in her best condescending tone. It was an art form to stare down your nose at someone standing while you were still seated, but she had long ago perfected it. "Zese people are far above trash like you."

"_Et apprendre quelques insultes décent!"_ smirked Hermione.

The girl paled, and then whirled and pushed through the small group of students, who looked uncertainly back at Fleur for a moment before following in her wake. Fleur smiled faintly; that girl needed to be taken down a few pegs, and it was even better for their British hosts to do it. She'd been beaten by people she looked down upon.

"What did you say, Hermione?" asked a grinning Harry.

"I told her to learn some decent insults," Hermione grinned back.

"Nice," he snorted. "We should use that on Malfoy next time he bugs us."

Fleur shook her head and went back to her food, amused by the idle banter.

The incident with Margeaux made Fleur's day a little easier at least. The girl was embarrassed by her error in judgement, and was therefore leaving well enough alone for a change. Other students were not so kind, but she was the worst of the lot, so it was a definite improvement.

Unfortunately, though, her mood could not last. Thoughts of Harry frequently distracted her in classes, always coming back to that same question. He was an amazingly sweet boy – how many would bother to learn _any_ French, even if it was only terms of endearment? – and that just made her feel that much guiltier because he was trying so hard for her.

He obviously cared how she felt, even though he was the one that was paying the price.

After somehow managing to make it through her classes for the day, she took to wandering the grounds of Hogwarts and allowing her mind to wander. There was no solution to this, and she did not know what to do. Her mind kept whirling, trying to figure out how to make it up to him, but nothing was forthcoming.

She eventually looked up to find herself standing next to the very same rock where they first discussed their newfound relationship. With a snort at the irony, she levered herself up and sat down facing the water, drawing her knees up under her chin. Her emotions were very near the surface, and she could not stop a tear from escaping.

Images whirled through her head, imagined events that took place in that house in Surrey, and she could not stop them. Had he survived it only so he could have the rest of his life taken away from him as well? Was he merely Fate's whipping boy, created solely so she could have somebody to torture?

It was appalling, and Fleur felt completely trapped. She could not call off the marriage because that would destroy him. She could not go through with it because it would take his choices away completely. What was she to do?

It never even occurred to her that she was just as much a victim, but that was neither here nor there.

She had no idea how long she was sitting there before she was finally interrupted. The rhythmic sounds of the lake had meshed with the looping horrors in her thoughts, blinding her to all else, freezing her where she sat. But then–

"Fleur?" called Hermione's tentative voice. "Are you alright?"

Blinking a few times to pull herself out of her daymares, she turned to see the girl standing at the base of the rock, staring worriedly up at her. Hermione was something of an enigma; where other girls would have been terminally jealous within days, she had gone for almost two weeks without seeing Fleur as a threat. And now she wanted to help?

It was not something she was accustomed to, and a ray of hope surged through her – not for Harry, but for herself. She had long since given up on having female friends the way other girls did, but was it possible that this girl might be the first? And she really _did_ need someone to talk to who wasn't her parents...

"_Non_," she forced out, shaking her head.

Hermione's brow creased in concern, and she climbed up without invitation, one hand holding her skirt against the light breeze. Her bushy hair blew about her face, a strand catching under her nose. It was her eyes that caught Fleur's attention: speckled brown, full of genuine concern for someone she barely knew.

"Is this about that girl?" she asked cautiously. "You really shouldn't worry about her. We can always turn the twins loose if she gives you anymore trouble."

The comment startled a choked laugh of out of Fleur, but there was no joy in it. "_Non_," she said again. "It is zis 'ole situation, 'ermione."

Hermione's frown deepened. "What do you mean?" she asked. "Are you having second thoughts?"

Fleur examined her closely, but to her surprise, there was no bite in either her voice or expression. If that was what she was guessing, then Fleur would have expected her to somehow come to Harry's defense, but she did not seem concerned about that. No, her concern at the moment was only for Fleur.

"Not in ze way you mean," she sighed tiredly. "'Arry is wonderful, 'ermione. Zis is just not fair to 'im."

"It's not exactly fair to you either, Fleur," pointed out Hermione. "You're just as stuck as he is."

Fleur sighed and shook her head resignedly. True, she was stuck, but somehow she felt that she had been blessed rather than cursed. And no matter how she looked at it, the same could not be said of Harry; he was paying far too high a price.

"I am ze 'ole reason we are stuck," she countered, unable to keep a bit of her latent anger at the situation from edging into her voice. "'E did not ask for zis, and 'e does not deserve to 'ave to give up 'is life zis way."

Hermione's brow creased in concern, and she shifted to settle in more comfortably, clearly sensing that it would be a long conversation. She turned out to look over the lake for a long moment, her gaze going distant as she thought about the statement, and then–

"I don't think he minds, really," she said slowly.

"'E should," replied Fleur darkly. "What do I 'ave zat can compare wiz what 'e is giving me? 'E deserves better zan to be forced to settle for me."

"Don't sell yourself short," said Hermione earnestly. "You do have something, Fleur, and it's something he needs. I don't think anyone else can give it to him."

Fleur blinked slowly back at her, confused by what she was seeing and hearing. Hermione looked almost desperate to make her point, but it wasn't in that know-it-all fashion that so many of her classmates accused her of. This was something much more important, but for the life of her, Fleur could not even guess what the girl was getting at.

"What do you mean?" she prompted quietly.

Hermione held her gaze steadily, as though to convince her of the truth of her words. "You care about him," she said quietly. "You _love_ him, and you love him for who he really is, not for who everyone wants him to be." In a darker tone, she added, "Even I can't always do that."

Fleur stared blankly back at her. She did not love Harry, at least not how Hermione meant. Did she care for him? Yes, a great deal. But love? That was something much deeper, much more profound, and she did not believe it for a moment.

Before she could retort, however, Hermione looked away again, her gaze going distant. "And he's falling in love with _you_," she said, barely above a whisper. "I don't think he knows it yet, but I've never seen him look at someone the way he looks at you before. The way he lights up when he sees you coming..."

She trailed off and left the statement hanging, but Fleur was too stunned to notice. Trying to swallow the idea that she could love Harry was one thing, but that _Harry_ could love _her?_ It struck her as preposterous. He had only known her for a mere two weeks, and still did not know much about her. They hadn't even spent much time together.

But she could not deny the memories that flashed in her mind's eye, especially of events that followed their discussion in the kitchens. When he looked at her, his eyes held a different look – a softer, more vulnerable, somewhat more open one – ever since. It was as though he had granted her his trust, and that was not something to take lightly.

But was it even possible that what Hermione was saying was true?

"Per'aps," she admitted grudgingly, still not truly believing it. "But it changes nuzzing, 'ermione. I can do nuzzing for 'im zat will evair compare to what 'e is doing for me."

Hermione shook her head and focused in on her again, a stubborn look appearing in her eyes. "Just love him, Fleur," she said softly. "It's what he needs the most, and the most important thing any of us can ever give."

Fleur blinked.

They both fell silent then, each lost in their own thoughts, and Fleur could not avoid trying to wrap her head around the girl's assertions. It would be wonderful if it was all true – if they could have the loving marriage that they both wanted – but there were no guarantees in life, and honestly, she thought that Hermione was jumping to conclusions.

It was still a nice dream, though, and if there was one truth that she could agree with, it was that love was what Harry needed the most. She did not know how much she could give him, but she would give all that she could. It was the least she could do.

And somehow, that simple decision eased her conscience considerably.

They sat for perhaps ten minutes, neither speaking, and Fleur had the sense that Hermione was simply giving her the time to think about what she'd said. She genuinely appreciated the gesture; having company was a nice change to her usual way of life, especially when that company could respect that she needed to think. Finally, though, Hermione changed the subject – sort of.

"So when are you going shopping for the wedding?" she asked with genuine interest.

Fleur smiled. She had never imagined having someone to talk about girl things with, but here she was. Perhaps she could put her troubles aside, and at least enjoy the moment.

For the first time since she was a child, Fleur had found a friend.


	16. Hidden Wealth

**A/N: Again, thank you so much for your reviews, they truly brighten my day! :-) And now, Chapter 16, as promised – but don't say I didn't warn you about the clichés. :-) Next update should be roughly Wednesday; I'm in the process of getting ready to move, so I'm writing where I find the time.**

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**Chapter 16**

Hidden Wealth

On Saturday, Sebastian corralled Harry for a trip to Diagon Alley. Fleur had gone off with Arienne and Hermione somewhere – Harry didn't want to know where – and so it was just the two of them for the day. The goal was to get fitted for wedding robes, but Sebastian hinted that they might have one or two other things to buy.

He was truly lost when it came to preparing for a wedding that was only a week away. He knew very little in the first place, and on top of that, they had virtually no time left. Part of him felt like he'd wasted what little he had, but when he looked back, he realized that apart from that one date, he really hadn't stopped just to have fun.

And the date was a necessity given that he was marrying the girl!

But the fact remained that he was completely out of his depth, and was only just realizing that he hadn't done Fleur any favors. From what he'd seen, most girls wanted romance, and apart from that one date – which barely counted – he hadn't done a single thing. There were no elegant dinners to get to know her, no down-on-one-knee proposal, no gushing declarations of his undying love...

Really, she was getting shafted, and he didn't know what to do about it. In fact, he was increasingly of the opinion that there _wasn't_ anything he could do about it. The problem was that, as much as he wanted her to have these things, he felt that having them be insincere would be worse than not having them at all.

"Do wizards ever renew their wedding vows?" he wondered as they wandered up the moderately-populated alley. "I mean, I know Muggles do, but is it different for Wizards?"

"I 'ave never 'eard of it being done before," said Sebastian thoughtfully. "Why do you ask?"

"Just thinking about the future," he said absently as he watched a hump-backed hag roll a rather large cauldron up the street. "This is really unfair to Fleur is all."

"I am not sure that I understand."

Harry shrugged and elaborated, feeling remarkably comfortable with the man, especially given that he was her father. "Well," he said slowly, "don't girls want all the stuff that goes with it? I mean, I never even proposed. Wouldn't she want that?"

"Ah," said Sebastian in sudden understanding. "And you were thinking of per'aps making it up to 'er?" he asked curiously.

"Something like that."

Sebastian chuckled good-naturedly and guided him up the stairs into the lobby of Gringotts. "And that is why I like you, 'Arry," he smiled. "Always thinking of others. And to answer your question, I think it is a wonderful idea. But do not feel too bad about it, you 'ave 'ad quite a lot occupying your time these past weeks."

"I'm not so sure that's a good enough excuse," grumbled Harry.

Sebastian just gave his shoulder a squeeze and steered him to the nearest counter. "You will make it work," he chuckled. "I 'ave faith in you, and I know that you will make my daughter a very 'appy woman."

"Key please."

Still wondering how Sebastian could have so much faith in him, Harry fished in his pocket, drew out his little golden key, and handed it to the goblin. The creature examined it for a moment before looking up and squinting at him. "Name?" he asked suspiciously.

"Harry Potter."

The goblin stared at him for a long moment, and then– "Wait here," he ordered.

Harry blinked.

"That was... unusual," frowned Sebastian as the goblin scurried off, leaving them standing alone in front of the counter.

Harry privately agreed. While the goblins were not exactly friendly with him, they weren't in the habit of making him wait either. Although he _had_ noticed that they often kept other wizards waiting, now he thought about it. Had he been getting special treatment because he was famous? That thought had him scowling a little by the time the goblin returned a few minutes later.

"Your account manger would like a word with you, Mr. Potter," the goblin told him. "This way."

"I have an account manager?" asked Harry blankly.

"Yes."

Harry almost snorted at the goblin's brevity, but otherwise ignored it as they followed the gnarled creature down a long hall. Sebastian looked surprised by the development, but not overly so; if Harry had to guess, he probably had some idea of what was going on. Unlike most people in his life, though, Harry actually trusted the man to tell him what he needed to know, before he needed to know it. He'd been very open about things so far.

The goblin led them through a maze of corridors to a large, opulent office deep in the bowels of the bank, and Harry wondered if he could even find his way back out again. He didn't have time to worry about that, however, because behind the desk sat a middle-aged goblin who was watching him expectantly. Confused, he moved forward.

"Er, hello," he offered cautiously. "I'm Harry Potter."

The goblin stared at him for a few beats. "I know who you are," he finally growled. "I am insulted that you have not returned my correspondence, and I would like to know the reason. Most wizards would not be given this chance."

Harry's eyes widened at the rebuke – and the implied threat. "Er, correspondence, sir?" he asked faintly. "I haven't had any from Gringotts."

The goblin's eyes narrowed. "I will not accept 'the krup ate my homework', Mr. Potter," he warned.

Harry cringed away from the clear anger in the goblin's eyes. He had never wanted to offend them; not only was that not his way, but they were bloody scary when they were angry. He'd had that beaten into his daydreams in History of Magic...

"If I may?" Sebastian butted in.

The goblin turned and studied him, his eyes narrowing to barely more than angry slits. "You may," he nodded.

"'Arry, I would like you to tell your account manager what your Gringotts assets consist of," said Sebastian bluntly, catching Harry completely off-guard.

Not knowing why, but trusting Sebastian, Harry shrugged and answered. "Er, okay," he said slowly. "I have a few thousand Galleons in my vault." Then he frowned and added, "Monsieur Delacour thinks my family was wealthy, but I don't know anything about it."

"Then how are charges being authorized against your holdings, Mr. Potter?" asked the goblin. "They contain your signature."

Harry blinked. "Wait, what?" he asked blankly. "I've never signed anything at Gringotts. I've only had to give you my key before."

"'Arry," said Sebastian slowly, with a worried frown. "'ow many transactions 'ave you made?"

"I've taken about a hundred Galleons a year for school," he shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets and feeling like a little boy who'd been called on the carpet. "Mrs. Weasley made the withdrawal this year since we went to see the World Cup."

Silence fell in the wake of his statement, and the goblin closely watched Harry, who shrank further into himself. He had no idea how to handle this. His flight instincts were screaming at him to run – he was going to be punished – but Sebastian's gentle grip on his shoulder kept him still.

After a minute of this, the goblin abruptly heaved himself out of his chair and moved over to a large filing cabinet. He flipped through the contents for a few moments before finally extracting a large stack of files and carrying them back to the desk. Then he motioned for them to take seats – but he still didn't look happy.

The next five minutes were spent waiting for the goblin to read through his files, with Harry getting more and more nervous by the minute. Finally, though, he picked up a piece of parchment and handed it to Harry. "Sign that," he ordered bluntly.

Frowning, Harry pulled it over.

"Erm, may I ask why, sir?" he asked in a small voice. "This is blank."

"Correct," said the goblin, snatching it back from him. Then he settled in to stare Harry down. "Are you willing to submit to Veritaserum to verify the statements you have made thus far?"

"Er, I guess so," frowned a very confused Harry. "I don't understand what's going on, sir."

"That much is obvious," said the goblin condescendingly. "Wait here."

The goblin scrambled out of the room, leaving a shell-shocked Harry in his wake. He'd never been offensive to the goblins, so why were they treating him this way? The way things were going, he wouldn't be surprised if this ended in another goblin rebellion. It would be just his luck!

"Try to relax, 'Arry," soothed Sebastian. "Goblins are fierce, and some would say greedy, but they are also honest. They will not 'arm you for something you 'ave not done."

"What's going on, Sebastian?" he asked in a low tone.

"I do not know," frowned Sebastian. "But I suspect that we are going to be dealing with your estate issues much sooner than we planned. This is not a positive sign that things are well on that front."

Harry snorted morbidly. "And things are well with me... _when,_ exactly?"

Sebastian chuckled darkly. "Too true, _mon fils_, too true. We will get it sorted out soon, this I promise you."

Harry closed his eyes and sighed. He honestly didn't know how much more he could handle. He was engaged to be married, had a new family to get to know, was dealing with Ron's idiocy, and had gotten Snape arrested, all in a matter of two weeks. How much more could one person take?

Although, he was honestly glad that Sebastian was there to help him, for he would still have been in the dark otherwise. True, it took the engagement to make it happen, but he honestly couldn't complain much about that. If things with Fleur continued the way they were going, they likely _would_ be happy together, and he could only hope she felt the same.

The goblin returned before he could get very far in that train of thought, this time accompanied by another, shorter goblin, who looked rather bored. He walked straight up to Harry and stuffed a phial in his hands that had a few drops of clear liquid in the bottom.

"Drink," he commanded.

"Er, is this Veritaserum?" asked Harry nervously.

"Yes."

"Go on, Harry," urged Sebastian. "I will make sure that they stick to your financial issues. You need not fear for your other secrets."

Harry looked to him for reassurance, and upon finding it, nodded and popped the top off the phial, quaffing it under the goblin's scrutinizing gaze. Unlike most potions he'd encountered, this one tasted like nothing, and at first he thought it was actually water. But then his vision clouded over, and his mind settled into a warm haze.

He liked the goblins! He trusted the goblins! He would tell them anything!

"Have you ever received correspondence from Gringotts?" came a voice.

"No," he answered immediately.

"Describe your transactions with Gringotts to date."

And he did, without hesitation.

"What vaults are you aware of that you maintain with us?"

"My trust vault."

"Who is your financial guardian?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

And now a different voice came to him. "'Ow long 'ave you known that Albus Dumbledore is your financial guardian?"

"Two weeks."

And then the first voice came back. "Who are your legal guardians?"

"Sebastian and Arienne Delacour."

"Enough, give him the antidote."

"Wait, please. 'Arry, 'ow long have I been your guardian?"

"Two weeks."

"And who were your guardians before that?"

"Vernon and Petunia Dursley."

"Antidote please."

Moments later, Harry felt an odd sensation in his mouth, and his vision cleared. The expression on the goblin's face was very different from how it had been only a few minutes ago; he looked troubled now. And when he looked up at Harry, it was with an apologetic expression.

"Mr. Potter," he said formally as the other goblin left the room, "I am Account Manager Riptooth. I would like to apologize on my own behalf and that of Gringotts Bank for our disrespect. I was unaware of the nature of the situation, and believed that you had slighted me."

Harry blinked his eyes clear of the last of the haze. "Er, that's okay, sir," he frowned. "I'm still not sure what's going on, though."

"Indeed," nodded the goblin. "What I can tell you right now is that your accounts are being illegally accessed to transfer funds, and I have ordered a full audit. We should have a preliminary answer shortly. In the mean time, if you are willing, I would like to know your current situation. It sounds like there have been recent changes."

Sebastian squeezed Harry's shoulder and took over. "If I may, Riptooth?" The goblin nodded. "Are you familiar with the interaction of veela magic and life debts?"

"I am."

"My wife and daughters are veela," he informed the creature, "and 'Arry saved the life of my eldest a little over two weeks ago. In investigating the situation, I discovered numerous irregularities in 'is records, and several indications that 'is living situation was... less than ideal. So I made arrangements to take custody, and 'is former guardians were only too 'appy to comply."

Sebastian paused for a moment before darkly adding, "They found themselves in jail just recently, and will likely be in prison for a very long time to come. They are Muggles who are aware of and bigoted against our world."

The goblin frowned slightly. "I see," he said slowly. "Please continue."

"'Arry 'as agreed of 'is own will to marry my daughter in the coming weekend," he explained, "and as you can imagine, our opportunities to look further into 'is situation 'ave been limited. Shortly after the guardianship was transferred, I did discover that 'e was unaware of any major inheritance, and 'ad intended to look into it after the wedding. This 'as taken us quite by surprise."

Riptooth nodded slowly in understanding. "This explains a great deal," he said with a goblin sigh as he turned back to Harry. "The correspondence that I believed you ignored was an inquiry regarding Mr. Severus Snape," he explained. "We know that he is being held for trial, and that invalidates his position as your proxy for the Wizengamot. This is an inherited position, and it falls to us to contact you for a replacement."

Harry stared blankly at the goblin for a moment and then turned to Sebastian, who looked angry. "What does that mean, Sebastian?" he asked slowly, his own anger stirring under the surface at the implications.

"It means, 'Arry," said Sebastian in a low growl, "that your family 'as a seat on the British Wizengamot, and Snape was occupying it, probably on Dumbledore's orders."

Fire ripped through Harry's veins at Sebastian's explanation. He slowly stood and went to stand facing a nearby wall as he tried to get himself back under control. The goblins would probably not like it if he lost his temper.

Finally he turned around and stared over the goblin's shoulder so as not to direct his anger at him. "How did this happen?" he asked with quiet rage. "My father and Snape were enemies, and the git is no better to me. So how in bloody hell did he get my family's seat on the Wizengamot?"

"The audit will tell us that, Mr. Potter," Riptooth explained. "I understand your anger, and I assure you, this matter will be resolved to your satisfaction. By not informing you of your inheritance, your financial guardian has abdicated his position under goblin law. You now have direct control of your accounts."

That statement brought a grim smile to Sebastian's face, but Harry ignored it and resumed his seat, doing his best to master his anger. "Thank you, sir," he nodded eventually. "What else do I have that I don't know about?"

"Your wealth is quite substantial," Riptooth informed him, "and you have the most extensive holdings in Wizarding businesses of any currently known family. This makes you a very powerful wizard in the political sense."

"And who is presently managing this?" asked Sebastian.

After glancing at Harry for approval, the goblin turned to Sebastian. "In truth, Mr. Delacour, nobody is," he said bluntly. "It has been a complaint of mine for some time, but as we were not able to correspond, it could not be changed. We will accept verbal instruction from Mr. Potter at this time."

Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. "I assume the Goblin Nation is still the best?" he asked bluntly.

"Not if you ask Wizards," snorted Riptooth, "but our returns are better than any other."

It was immediately clear to Harry where Sebastian was going with the question. "How much would it cost to have you manage it?" he asked curiously.

"Under normal circumstances, a hefty percentage," admitted Riptooth, "but for an account as large as yours, we generally operate for either a flat fee of fifty thousand Galleons per annum, or a percentage of the profits, usually one half percent."

Harry's eyes narrowed slightly as he thought it through. "And it's still good for me even if you take fifty thousand a year?"

"That is the most profitable option for you usually," nodded Riptooth. "As I said, Mr. Potter, your holdings are quite extensive. Fifty thousand Galleons is petty cash."

"And the percentage is better for the goblins?" asked Harry.

"Much better."

"Then take the percentage, sir," decided Harry. "That way we both win."

Sebastian gave an approving nod, which made Harry feel a little better. He actually felt quite foolish; he didn't even know what he was negotiating the investment of. But it was more than he'd had before the day began, so he supposed it didn't matter – and with the percentage, he didn't have to worry about going broke because they lost his money.

Riptooth made a few notations on his parchment. "Consider it done," he declared. "I will assign one of our best investment managers."

Harry nodded his thanks, and then the door opened to admit a new goblin, this one older than Riptooth and dressed much more finely. He eyed Harry as he approached, ignoring Sebastian. His hands contained a single scroll.

"Mr. Potter," he greeted in a gravelly voice. "I am Ragnok. This is the current summary of your accounts."

"Thanks," he said with a faint smile. And then he unrolled the scroll and caught sight of the contents, and the blood drained from his cheeks. "Bloody hell!" he breathed.

"'Arry?" prompted Sebastian.

Harry merely handed him the scroll as he tried to recover. He hadn't even looked at the details; the totals were startling enough. Rich didn't even begin to cover it! Harry was a billionaire in Muggle terms, and had never even known it. In fact...

"Why did I not know about this?" he whispered faintly.

"Dumbledore," growled Sebastian, handing the scroll back to him without fanfare or reaction to its contents. "'E should 'ave told you about all of this a long time ago. I 'ave no doubt 'e assigned Snape your seat on the Wizengamot as well."

Ragnok turned to Riptooth, suddenly appearing angry. "Am I to understand that the Potter Heir was unaware of his estate?" he growled.

"He has not been receiving his correspondence, Director," nodded Riptooth. "That is why I had him brought to this office. I had originally believed that he was insulting us, but we have discovered otherwise. He was only aware of the educational trust vault."

Harry had no idea that goblin skin could change colors like human skin did, but he knew it now. Ragnok's obvious rage appeared as dark orange-brown blotches on his light orange-brown cheeks, and his eyes narrowed, sparking in anger. He was also producing some kind of magical aura if Harry wasn't mistaken, though it wasn't visible to the naked eye.

"No, Riptooth, Mr. Potter did not insult us," he growled. "Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand, has slapped us in the face, and I will not tolerate that." Turning back to Harry, he continued on his tirade. "Over the last year and a half, over eighty million Galleons have been removed from your estate to fund an organization known as the Order of the Phoenix. Albus Dumbledore is the head of that organization. I do not know its purpose."

Harry shot out of his chair. "WHAT?" he roared. "That bastard is _stealing_ from me now, too?"

The goblins both took a step back, but Sebastian moved toward him and lowered himself to eye-level. "Calm down, 'Arry," he ordered firmly. "I am angry as well, but this will not 'elp. We will deal with Dumbledore."

Harry could indeed see the anger simmering behind Sebastian's eyes, almost as hot as his own, and it calmed him greatly for some reason. He nodded sharply and dropped back into his seat, trying desperately to reign himself in as Sebastian was doing, with only marginal success.

"Our apologies, Director Ragnok," offered Sebastian deferentially. "'Arry 'as been through more in the past two weeks than anyone should 'ave to take."

"He is planning to save a veela who owes him a life debt," added Riptooth helpfully.

"My daughter," agreed Sebastian.

Ragnok was visibly surprised by this information, and turned to Harry with an almost reverent expression that all but erased his former anger. "You would do such a thing?" he asked quietly.

"Why wouldn't I?" frowned Harry bemusedly.

Ragnok shook himself. "I do not mean any disrespect to your intended," he said slowly, "but she is only part human, is she not?"

Harry frowned even more deeply at that, offended by the insinuation. "So what?" he asked flatly. "She's a person, sir, and my friend. I don't care _what_ she is, just who."

The comment earned him a genuine smile from Sebastian, and Ragnok nodded slowly. "Then you have my respect, Mr. Potter," he nodded. "As does Mr. Delacour. Your race as a whole is highly prejudiced, and it is good to know that there are those who do not subscribe to such beliefs."

Harry just blinked. "Oh. Er, thanks, I guess."

Ragnok chuckled and shook his head in amusement. "Mr. Dumbledore will be finding it difficult to access his accounts in the future," he decided. "We will complete the full audit, and will have any money that was taken illicitly returned to you. We do not take kindly to people who take advantage of our account holders, especially when they are of the importance of the Potters."

"Thank you," nodded Harry, still too angry about that to say much more.

"I 'ave a proposal, 'Arry," offered Sebastian. "If you will provide authorization, Arienne and I can monitor the situation and 'andle this aspect of things. You still 'ave school to deal with, and this will need considerable attention."

Harry nodded. "That's fine, Sebastian," he said quietly. "I don't know what to do anyway. How do I give you authorization?"

Ragnok inserted himself back into the conversation. "You are aware that this will give them the ability to remove funds?" he asked neutrally.

Harry nodded; he wasn't, but it did make sense. Even so– "I trust them, sir," he said firmly.

Ragnok nodded. "Very well, your authorization is noted. We will send your statements to Mr. Delacour until the situation with your correspondence can be resolved."

"Thank you for your assistance, Director Ragnok, Account Manager Riptooth," said Sebastian formally. "You have my word that the Delacour family will see justice done on behalf of my new son. There are many other issues related to this, and Dumbledore is at the center of them all. We will not stand for it; nobody 'arms my family and survives it intact."

"And you may rest assured that we will place our full might behind your efforts," offered Ragnok. "We tolerate neither insult nor harm to friends of the Goblin Nation."

Harry, who was still trying to process the fact that Sebastian had just claimed him as a son, was fairly certain that he missed some hidden meaning in Ragnok's words, at least if the way Sebastian's eyes widened was any indication. And sure enough–

"We are honored, Director Ragnok," breathed Sebastian respectfully.

Ragnok chuckled. "I look forward to doing business with you," he said. "May you go with honor."

Confused and overwhelmed, Harry blinked up at Sebastian. He wanted to know what he missed, but something told him that he would be better off leaving it alone for the moment. Things were far enough out of control as it was...

"Do we 'ave any further business, Riptooth?" asked Sebastian politely.

"I do not believe so," said Riptooth. "May you go with honor."

"And you, Riptooth," nodded Sebastian. Then he turned to Harry with a kind smile. "Come, 'Arry," he offered gently, one hand coming down gently on Harry's shoulder to steer him toward the door. "Let us go shopping. I believe you need something mindless to do for a while."

Harry could not have agreed more.


	17. The Howler

**A/N: Woohoo! Another chapter! I feel like this could use another once-over, but oh well :-) Next one should be, once again, Saturday or Sunday. The story feels like there's a chapter missing after that one, so we'll see where it goes. In the mean time,_ bon appétit_!**

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**Chapter 17**

The Howler

Since her talk with Hermione, Fleur was feeling much more comfortable. It took most of a sleepless night to sort it out, but in the end, all that mattered was that Hermione was correct: if there was one thing that Harry lacked in life, it was love and affection. And as she watched him more closely in the intervening days, she began to see the girl's other point, too.

He was exceedingly reserved even with his friends, including Hermione – who, near as Fleur could tell, truly _was_ his best friend in the entire world – but with Fleur it was different. There was a softness about him when he looked at her, a tenderness that was otherwise well hidden. She had somehow penetrated a wall that even Harry himself probably didn't realize that he had built.

The result of this discovery was much more obvious flirting on her part, which he did not seem to mind, even if he was unsure how to respond to it. He was learning, though, and even responded in kind on occasion, which made her smile every time it happened. He was a natural charmer, and not one of those boys who would go through several girls before he figured out how to treat them.

Fleur was currently at the Gryffindor table, which had become her home at Hogwarts, listening to yet another argument between Ron and Hermione. The twins were even scoring it, as had become commonplace, much to Ron's disgust and everyone else's delight. It made an otherwise obnoxious event at least somewhat more bearable.

Neville and Harry were ignoring them, chatting quietly about Potions of all things. It sounded like Neville would do much better in that class – which was now being taught by Dumbledore himself, to Harry's displeasure – but she could not otherwise discern the nature of their talk. She smiled softly as she watched them; Neville seemed a much better friend than Ron.

Just after the meal was served, a short redhead approached the table. She was quite pretty: her long hair fell in a plait down her back, her rosy cheeks spoke of good humor, and she had a lithe, well-shaped form. Fleur suspected she could have her pick of whatever boy she wanted, and wondered after the shy expression she was wearing.

"Erm, Harry?" she called quietly.

Harry looked up from his conversation, and a small, genuine smile lit his face; he obviously liked this girl. Fleur had noticed that, whether he talked to them or not, he knew almost everyone in the castle. And for those who he genuinely liked, he always had that friendly smile ready.

"Hi, Susan," he greeted warmly.

"Hi," she smiled back. "Auntie wanted me to deliver a message. She said she couldn't get ahold of your guardian yesterday."

Harry indicated the spot next to Hermione that Neville had earlier vacated so they could talk. "Have a seat," he offered politely. "Erm, I think you know everyone but Fleur. Fleur, this is Susan Bones."

Susan smiled hesitantly, and Fleur gave her a warm one in return. She was not accustomed to showing her true feelings – even when she thought someone was nice – so it actually took effort for her to do.

"_Bonjour_," she offered kindly. "Your Aunt is Amelia Bones, per'aps?"

Susan blushed lightly and nodded, and then her gaze tracked back to Harry. "She wanted me to tell you that Snape's trial is set for the second," she informed him. "She might need you to testify, but she doesn't know yet."

Harry's smile turned grim and evil. "If it's against Snivellus?" he mused. "She only has to ask."

"You and most of the rest of the school," grinned Susan – and then she ducked her head as though only just realizing who she was talking so openly to.

Fleur examined her critically; she was obviously starstruck, but also was making a supreme effort not to be. It gave one the sense that she knew Harry in passing, but not well – and that she genuinely liked him as a person, not as The Boy Who Lived. Fleur appreciated that, and so decided to put her more at ease; the more friends Harry had, the better.

Besides, _his_ friends were rapidly becoming _her_ friends, which was a new experience that she was enjoying greatly...

"We must thank 'er," she mused with a grin. "We did not expect zat it would 'appen so quickly, and ze show was quite enjoyable."

Susan smiled at her, some of the tension leaving her. "She was happy to do it," she said quietly. "He never dared to pick on me, but she's heard rumors for years. She was thrilled to have some actual evidence."

"And we are not done yet," Fleur chuckled ominously.

Susan's eyes widened, and she tentatively opened her mouth to ask after the statement, but then Harry suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, his gaze traveling upward to the rafters. The color drained from his cheeks, his eyes widening in alarm. Fleur frowned worriedly at his expression.

"'Arry?" she called.

"Bugger!" he breathed urgently. "Did the invitations already go out, Fleur?"

"_Oui_," she nodded. "Why?"

"Because that's a Molly Weasley Howler!"

All three Weasley boys turned to look, and quailed when they saw the red envelope winging its way toward them in the talons of a decrepit owl. Fleur's eyes narrowed: Harry had warned her that the woman might not be happy, and that she might not readily accept the situation, but to send a howler? That could ruin everything!

It exploded just as the owl reached the table, blowing the poor creature off target and sending it on a collision course with Hermione's head. A shrill, obnoxious voice rang out, and Fleur couldn't get her wand out fast enough to be rid of it.

"_HARRY JAMES POTTER! WHAT ARE YOU THINKING? SHACKING UP WITH–"_

Fleur flicked her wand and whispered a hurried incantation, and a privacy bubble sprang up around their part of the table, thankfully enclosing the shouting envelope in its protective sphere. Unfortunately, that meant they had to listen to the voice echoing around inside.

"-_SOME VEELA HUSSY! I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU WOULD DO SUCH A FOOLISH THING! I AM SO ASHAMED OF YOU! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE SWEET BOY WE THOUGHT WE KNEW? I WILL NOT LET YOU TURN INTO SOME KIND OF JIGOLO! I WILL BE CALLING ON YOUR RELATIVES STRAIGHT AWAY, AND WE'LL SEE WHAT HAPPENS WHEN SOMEONE __**RESPECTABLE **__DEALS WITH YOU! I THOUGHT YOU WERE BETTER THAN THIS! YOU ARE AN UTTER DISGRACE! THERE WILL NOT BE A WEDDING, YOUNG MAN, YOU ARE NOT OLD ENOUGH! YOU HAD BETTER NOT HAVE GOTTEN HER PREGNANT!_

And with that, the envelope burst into flame, leaving a ringing silence in its wake.

Fleur quickly took stock of the situation. The twins, Neville, Ron, Hermione, and Susan were all inside the bubble, and heard every word. She trusted all but Ron and Susan, and had much more faith in the shy redhead than the obnoxious one. But the real problem was Harry.

He flinched away from the howler as though physically struck, and his face lost more color with each word. Every new statement struck another painful blow, and there were tears brimming in his eyes by the time it was over. Devastation was written across his features, plain as day.

She reached out to him to offer comfort, but before she could even get close, he bolted.

Fleur sucked in a breath as he tore from the hall, heedless of who was watching. She had no idea where he would go, and no clue how to fix this. He respected the elder Weasleys greatly from what she knew, and that woman had just lit into him like nobody's business. The slight against _her_ never even registered except as a distant fact.

But the rest made her angry.

_Very _angry.

It was all she could do to keep herself from transforming on the spot, and she was well aware that her arms were gaining a soft downy coating. Rather than try to get it under control, however, she redirected anger into action. This had to be dealt with.

She was going to have words with that woman!

Her gaze swept the table, and the reactions were not terribly surprising. Hermione, who knew everything, was in tears. Neville was worried, and Susan pale. Fred and George were angry, which was no surprise as they liked Harry – and Fleur suspected that they had already figured it out anyway. And Ron looked confused, like it was all some kind of joke.

She immediately locked onto the biggest problem at the table.

"Not one word, Ronald!" she hissed quietly. "If you reveal zis to anyone, I will show you ze definition of a veela in full rage! Do you understand me?"

Ron glanced at her lightly-feathered arms and gulped audibly, quickly acquiescing with a nod. She was not sure it would hold – the boy was a menace – but she prayed that it would. They could not afford for anyone to find out yet.

Her expression softened as she turned to Susan and Neville, both of whom nevertheless quailed under her stare. "Please do not say anyzing," she said in a much gentler tone. "I will explain later."

They both nodded; it was clear that they were concerned about Harry and would do as she asked. They cared about him, and it was only too obvious what would happen if it got out. Neither of them would feed the rumor mill.

Next she turned to Hermione, who was staring at the doors that Harry had just disappeared through. A single tear ran down her cheek, and her brow was creased in deep concern for her friend. Fleur was genuinely thankful for her presence; she needed someone she could trust completely with Harry's wellbeing, and Hermione was it.

"'ermione," she called quietly, drawing the girl's gaze. Hermione turned, her concern even more apparent from the sympathetic pain that shone in her eyes. "Go to 'im," she ordered gently. "I will be zere soon enough, but I must deal wiz zis woman first."

Hermione nodded and bolted from the room without a second thought, not even bothering with her things. Fleur could only hope she knew where he might go; it would be hard enough to find them later, and she really did not want him to be alone right now. Indeed, her first impulse was to go after him – but there were larger concerns, such as what would happen if that woman really _did_ try to talk to his relatives.

Finally she turned to Fred and George. "You know?" she asked flatly.

"We guessed after the Task," nodded Fred, more serious than she'd ever seen him before.

"We're not saying a word," George assured her, even as his brother nodded in agreement.

"Zank you," she said gratefully. "Please keep your bruzzer in line, for 'is own sake. I do not make idle threats."

"No worries," said Fred.

"I must speak wiz my fazzer," she sighed. "Your 'ome is ze Burrow, non?"

"That's the address," nodded George. "Just please don't kill her."

Fleur snorted in response to that – she was barely holding onto her temper as it was – and then rose gracefully from her seat. After sweeping her gaze across Harry's friends one more time, meeting each pair of eyes in succession to remind them silently of her demands, she swept out of the Hall with purpose. She would find her father, and they would go set Molly Weasley straight. She would not allow _anyone_ to harm Harry!

The few students that crossed her path wisely moved out of the way when they saw her coming. Not even the Beauxbatons students had ever seen her in a rage before, and it was something that they universally hoped to _never_ see again.

Little did they know that what they were seeing was only the tip of the iceberg...

==========[break]==========

When Fleur explained the events of the morning to Sebastian, he demanded to see the memory – and then had to sit for ten minutes to get his sudden rage under control. He was so incredibly angry that, for the first time in years, his aura had even reached visibility. It did not help that he had never before seen his daughter with feathers; his wife, yes, but not his daughter.

But after seeing that memory, he did not blame her in the slightest, and was quite proud of her for preventing the full transformation.

She badly wanted to show Molly Weasley exactly what a 'veela hussy' was capable of, but fortunately for Molly, he managed to convince her that Harry was more important right now. And that was how he found himself alone, knocking on the front door of the Burrow, not thirty minutes after the incident took place. And he was _not_ a happy camper.

The door opened to reveal an obviously irritable Weasley.

"Call your 'usband," he said gruffly, without preamble. "We need to talk."

Molly's eyes narrowed. "And just who are you?" she scowled.

"I am Seigneur Sebastian Alexandre Delacour," he said dangerously, "Director of Foreign Affairs for ze French Ministry of Magic." His voice lowered to a hiss as he added, "And I am ze fazzer of a young woman whom you just referred to as a hussy!"

Molly's cheeks lost their color at the revelation of who she was dealing with, and Sebastian continued to stare her down, using her shocked silence to his advantage. "Now," he said in a low tone, "go call Arthur before I am forced to embarrass you publicly. And I assure you, I will use far more effective means zan a 'owler!"

Fear blossomed on her features, and she backed away before turning to rush off to the fireplace. Sebastian took the still-open door as an invitation; he stepped inside, and was barely polite enough to remain in the entryway so as not to eavesdrop. His continuing anger made it very difficult to keep his magic restrained while he waited.

He knew Arthur in passing from the last war, and respected the man greatly – but his wife was another matter entirely. He did not exactly dislike the woman before today – he did not truly know her – but had thought that Arthur could do better. He even recalled musing aloud at one point that her temper would one day get them into a great deal of trouble.

Now it looked like a self-fulfilling prophecy.

His anger continued to boil as he waited – but Molly did not return, and it was perhaps two minutes later when Arthur himself finally stepped into the room. He stared for a long moment, clearly surprised to see such an old acquaintance in his entryway.

"Sebastian?" he frowned. "Are you alright?"

"_Non_, Arthur, I am not," replied Sebastian tightly, meeting the man's gaze. "Let us discuss zis over tea. Ze conversation will be neizzer short nor pleasant."

Arthur's eyes widened, and he beckoned for Sebastian to follow him into the kitchen. Molly stood at the sink, staring angrily out of the kitchen window, so he went to make the tea himself. For his part, Sebastian removed a small bowl from a pocket and placed it on the table before tapping it with his wand, causing it to grow into a full-sized Pensieve.

He swirled the memories for a moment to make sure they were all there, and was satisfied.

Just as he was finishing, a deeply-concerned Arthur returned and placed a mug of tea in front of him. Unable to smile, Sebastian merely nodded his thanks; he was not angry with the man, but very little could have made him smile at that moment. The sequence of events he was about to show them kept playing itself over and over in his mind.

Finally, Arthur took his seat and frowned at his wife. "Come sit down, Molly," he said quietly.

Molly whirled, her growing anger apparent in the way she stood, her body vibrating, arms akimbo. "You're going to _listen_ to this?" she hissed angrily. "They're taking advantage of Harry!"

Sebastian's eyes narrowed. He was well respected for a reason, and the slight against his honor only served to anger him further. This woman had no understanding of just how much fire she was playing with, or how close she was to getting burned – literally, if Fleur had any say in the matter!

"I would suggest, _Madame_," he growled harshly, "zat you sit down and shut your mouth. Or are you too foolish to learn ze truth?"

Molly scoffed, but Arthur cut her off. "Enough!" he snapped. "Sit down, Molly!"

She scowled and dropped heavily into a seat, and Arthur turned to Sebastian with a deepening frown. "This had better be good, Sebastian," he said with some heat. "I don't appreciate you speaking to my wife that way."

Sebastian arched an eyebrow. It was a rather hypocritical comment coming from a man whose wife apparently had a penchant for sending deeply embarrassing howlers to school children in the middle of public meals. Whatever she got, it was well deserved as far as he was concerned.

But still, he let it go; they had more important things to deal with.

"We will start wiz ze disrespect shown by your wife zis morning, Arthur," he said tightly, looking the man in the eye. "And zere will be no lies 'ere today. Let us enter ze memory and see it for ourselves. I would suggest zat you pay close attention to 'Arry."

Arthur nodded and then gave Molly a stony look that demanded obedience. This was one of the reasons Sebastian liked the man: he normally appeared as a genial and, frankly, bumbling fool, but when he was serious or got angry, people – including his own wife – tended to stay out of his way. He was an incredible actor at times.

Molly was reluctant, but still she complied, scowling at Sebastian as she leaned in. Nothing was said as they slipped into the memory and took in the scene. The conversation was light and pleasant at the Gryffindor table, and under other circumstances he would have found the topic amusing; Harry was in surprisingly good spirits on this particular morning.

But then the howler arrived, and they watched the carnage begin.

It was only some quick thinking on Fleur's part that prevented the ultimate disaster – and it still wasn't enough. Harry heard every word, and his reaction was anything but good. Each new assault from the howler was like another bullet from a Muggle gun, striking him right in the heart.

It was absolutely heartbreaking to watch Harry shatter like so much spun glass.

There was a brief silence when they exited the memory, and Sebastian noted that while Molly did show regret at Harry's reaction, she still was not budging. He had a feeling that he would have an uphill battle with this woman, and if necessary, he might even have to obliviate her. That was not a happy prospect.

"Ze slight against my daughter was contained, as you saw," he said finally, his tone quiet and deadly. "But 'Arry is _also_ a member of my family, and I do _not_ mean zat metaphorically."

"I'm sure he'll manage," scowled Molly.

Arthur paled at her words, apparently having a clue as to the gravity of what had taken place. Sebastian turned slowly toward her, anger blazing behind his eyes. "Are you truly so callous?" he whispered dangerously, reaching out to select a different memory in the ornate bowl. "Are you truly so 'eartless? Do you not _know_ what that boy's life 'as been like? No? Zen per'aps I shall show you!"

And with that, he snapped his hands out to grab theirs, plunging them into the Pensieve without warning, making sure to take a tight hold on his temper against what they would shortly be seeing.

"Don't you touch me!" spat Molly, quickly shaking him off.

Sebastian ignored her. "Zis memory," he said quietly, "is from when 'Arry was all of five years old. It was taken directly from ze mind of Vernon Dursley. Watch, and learn."

Wisely, the Weasleys remained silent.

The memory Sebastian chose was one of the more horrific of the lot. They watched as a bedraggled young Harry, dressed in little more than rags, was rousted from his room – which happened to be a broom cupboard. Today was little Harry's birthday, and he was woken at five in the morning to 'celebrate'.

They watched as Vernon Dursley told him that the cooking was now his responsibility. He liberally used words like 'worthless' and 'freak'. And then he grabbed little Harry by the back of his pants and quite literally threw him into the kitchen.

The door was closed at the time; the little boy was lucky that it wasn't latched.

They watched as Vernon stalked after him to lord over the process, and they watched as five-year-old Harry accidentally dropped an egg and bent over to clean it up – and was punished with a kick to the ribs that resulted in an audible snap. They watched as a still-stoic Harry continued trying... and trying... and trying.

By the end of the memory, the young birthday boy had two visibly broken limbs – an arm and a leg – several broken ribs, and numerous second-degree burns. And then he was unceremoniously tossed back into his cupboard with orders to 'heal up'.

It was enough to make one vomit, and when they returned to the kitchen table, both Weasleys nearly did. He allowed the stark silence to continue for a long moment as he reached into his coat for the now-familiar file and tossed it on the tabletop in front of Molly.

"Zat memory was one of many," he finally whispered. "It was not a flight of fancy, nor were ze ozzers. Zey really 'appened." He rapped a finger smartly on the closed file folder. "Zese are 'is Muggle 'ospital records. Zey are ze reason I was willing to mentally rape Vernon Dursley to find ze truth."

Looking Molly in the eye, he continued, "For ze rest of zis conversation, bear in mind zat as far as _I_ am concerned, zat boy is now my son. I will go to _very_ great lengths to protect 'im. _Do not test me!_"

He hissed the last, and Molly quailed as she turned to the folder that she now held in trembling hands. She flipped slowly through it, and as she continued reading, tears began to run down her cheeks. When she looked up again, she looked like he had finally gotten through to her, at least a little.

"Where are those bastards?" she whispered.

"Prison," he said flatly. "Zey 'ave been dealt wiz, and nobody can send 'im back zere evair again."

"How did we not know about this?" asked Arthur in genuine anguish.

"You did not wish to see," said Sebastian simply. "You trusted Albus Dumbledore, and believe me, I 'ave discovered 'orrifying zings about Albus in ze last two weeks. Not only did 'e leave 'Arry wiz zose monsters, but 'e 'as also stolen over eighty million Galleons from ze Potter estate. 'E nevair even told 'Arry zat it existed."

Both Weasleys paled again. "What?" whispered Molly.

"We 'ave proof," sighed Sebastian, "but zat is for me and 'Arry to deal wiz. You will say nuzzing to anyone. If you do, zere will be severe consequences for all involved."

"This conversation will be kept confidential, Sebastian," said Arthur quietly. "You have my personal word of assurance on that."

Sebastian nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you," he nodded. "And now zat you understand 'ow little you know about 'Arry, we move on to ze reason for zis morning's disaster. Ze wedding."

"I don't know how you can justify that!" said Molly in a harsh, broken whisper, her anger warring with her grief over what she had just seen.

Rather than answer her, however, Sebastian turned to Arthur. "'Arry saved Fleur's life," he said bluntly.

Arthur's face instantly lost what little color it had regained. "Merlin's beard!" he breathed.

"Indeed," nodded Sebastian. "'E is ze most honorable boy I 'ave evair met. 'E is giving much, and I can only 'ope zat 'e receives as much in return."

"What are you talking about?" scowled Molly.

"That's enough, Molly," sighed Arthur as he ran a hand over his face. "Unless you really want Harry to kill Sebastian's daughter, there are no options here. He has to marry her."

"_WHAT DID SHE DO TO HIM?"_

**SLAM!**

"DAMNIT MOLLY! WILL YOU SIT THE HELL DOWN AND GET THE FACTS FIRST FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE?"

Sebastian watched with muted interest as Arthur well and truly lost his temper. And Molly, it seemed, had not seen it in a very long time, at least if her reaction was any indication. She nearly passed out, and abruptly dropped into the chair she had risen from, focused completely on her husband.

Arthur closed his eyes and reigned in his temper again before fixing her with an angry look. "She didn't do a single thing, Molly!" he snapped. "Nor did Harry! This is profound Magic, and there is not a damn thing either of them could have done to avoid it!" He stared her down for a moment to make sure she got the point, and then turned to Sebastian. "I assume this happened in the lake during the Second Task?" he snapped.

"Yes," nodded Sebastian. "And Albus 'as much to answer for, for the danger zat 'e 'as put my family into. We were promised ze Tournament would be safe, and it clearly is not."

Arthur nodded and turned back to his wife. "Her veela magic will call the life debt due in short order, Molly," he told his pale wife. "If Harry doesn't marry her, she will lose her magic, and veela can't survive without it. She would be dead inside of three weeks. There's no other way."

Silence fell in the homely kitchen as she absorbed it, and Sebastian waited, sipping his tea with a patience he did not truly feel. He was still dangerously angry, but unless he wanted to do physical damage, all he could do was talk. It was really quite frustrating.

Molly's expression cycled through many emotions before he finally saw the light of realization dawn. She was beginning to understand what she had done to poor Harry, and just how badly she had screwed up. Only problem was, she probably didn't know the half of it.

Finally, Sebastian broke the silence, and he had nothing nice to say.

"'Arry invited you because 'e values your family," he said quietly. "You 'ave meant a great deal to 'im over ze years, because you gave 'im ze first care and affection zat 'e 'ad evair known. 'E wanted you to be zere for such a profound moment in 'is life.

"And you threw it back in 'is face!" he hissed, giving no quarter as he watched Molly's horrified reaction.

"You are lucky zat I was able to convince my daughter not to come 'ere, Molly," he continued relentlessly. "You enraged 'er, not on 'er own behalf, but on 'Arry's. You would 'ave 'ad a visit to St. Mungo's. Even _I_ will not cross a veela in full rage, and I married one! Let alone one 'oo is defending 'er chosen mate!"

There was a brief silence, his statement echoing in air around them, before–

"How bad is this, Sebastian?" asked Arthur faintly. "What should we do?"

Sebastian sighed heavily. "I do not yet know," he admitted. "But I can tell you zat it is not good. 'E is an abused child, and does not trust easily wiz 'is feelings. Molly 'as broken zat trust, and it will be very difficult to earn it back."

Turning back to Molly, he said, "I do not know 'ow you can apologize, but if you truly value zat boy, you will try. At zis moment, I cannot allow you to attend ze wedding. If 'Arry decides to allow it zen I will let you know, but you do not even 'ave a chance until you try to make zis right."

Sebastian's expression hardened again. "And you almost exposed zem to Albus," he growled, "which would 'ave put both of zem at great risk if it got out before ze wedding. Do something like zat again, Molly, and I will not be so forgiving. I do not tolerate threats to my family. 'ave I made myself clear?"

"Yes," she whispered faintly.

Sebastian crossed his fingers, and prayed that she meant it. He truly didn't know how much more pain one boy could take.


	18. Breakdown

**A/N: Sorry about the delay, folks. I re-read this chapter right after I posted the last one, and hated the first half, but my muse was on holiday. This is attempt seven or eight, or thereabouts (and it came out startlingly similar, though I still think this one is markedly better). I'm once again not completely happy with it, but it will do since I don't want to keep you waiting. It's hard to write a scene like this when you're feeling good about life... :) I stayed up late tonight just to finish it for you!**

**Alleren: Thanks for the vote of confidence. :-) I take negative reviews with a grain of salt, though I will admit that one recent one in particular made me want to call someone a whiny *****. Seriously, though, when only a few out of a hundred reviews are negative, I must be doing _something_ right, but it still feels great to know that people disagree with those negative reviews :-)**

**And to the rest of you, thank you once again for the incredible response! That said, I must regretfully inform you that the next update will likely not occur until Sunday or Monday. I sincerely feel like there is a chapter missing directly after this one, and it's a bit jarring. I'll see if I can fix it, but I may end up leaving it the way it is. Time will tell...**

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**Chapter 18**

Breakdown

After seeing her father off, Fleur wasted no time in tracking down Harry and Hermione. She found them sitting side by side on what she thought of as his favorite rock down by the lake. Harry had his knees drawn up to his chest, with his chin resting on them, and Hermione was talking softly to him, though it did not look like she was making any progress.

She approached them slowly, not wanting to startle them, even as she worried over what to do. It was well known to his friends that Harry was extremely reticent when it came to his problems, and she doubted that it would be any different where she was concerned. After all, why should he tell her, when he would not even talk to Hermione?

But then, she was about to marry him, and this would likely be her responsibility for a long time to come; she supposed she had better get used to it.

Hermione looked up at her as she hauled herself up on the rock, and she paused for a moment, considering what she should do. In the end, however, the decision was easy to make: yes, Hermione was his best friend, but Fleur was to be his wife. Some things were private, and while she did not know him well enough to say with any certainty, she felt that this was one of those things that he would not want to share.

And so she smiled apologetically at the girl. "Will you please excuse us, 'ermione?" she requested quietly, trying to convey her thanks for the girl's efforts with her eyes.

She was relieved when Hermione smiled an understanding smile at her. "Take care of him, Fleur," she said quietly.

Fleur nodded, and she stood there for a few moments, watching as Hermione made her way back to the castle. Then, turning back to Harry, she examined him more closely – and did not like what she saw. He had not reacted at all to her presence – or to Hermione's departure – and that was not a good sign.

He was tense, his muscles taut, and had an unnatural stillness about him. His eyes had drifted shut at some point in the last few minutes, though she did not know whether that was a good thing or not. The look on his face was one of despair.

Realizing that talking to him would not get her anywhere – yet – she instead sat down beside him, occupying the spot that Hermione had just vacated. Cautiously, she leaned up against him and put her arm around him, hoping to wordlessly convey her support. It was a relief when he did not flinch away from her; she almost expected that the contact would not be welcome.

Silence reigned for a long while, and she watched worriedly as his expression morphed further into desperation. She could see the signs of his internal struggle in the way his eyes were screwed tightly shut, and the way the lines of his forehead deepened with each passing moment. It was not long before a single tear ran down his cheek, and it was then that Fleur realized what was happening.

He was fighting for control of himself, and losing badly.

She knew from her father that the Dursleys did not allow him to show his emotions; it always earned him a beating. He spent his years in that house learning to suppress them, and she suspected that it was finally catching up to him. After everything that had happened in the past two weeks, this was hardly a surprise.

Harry stiffened when she removed her arm from his shoulders, almost as though he expected her to leave, but she had no such intention. Instead she turned around to face him and carefully maneuvered him so that she could pull him close, gently cradling his head against her chest. And that was all it took to push him over the edge.

He choked back a quiet sob, and his tears began to flow more freely.

Fleur said nothing, and merely held him as the dam finally burst. Thirteen years of pent up tears finally boiled over, and he could do nothing to stop them. She doubted that he had ever cried like this before; from her father's description, even broken limbs did not elicit a tear from him. He had bottled it all up, and could no longer hold it inside.

A quickly cast privacy spell ensured that nobody would bother them – or even know about it – and she waited patiently while he quietly cried himself out. In many ways, she was honored that he was allowing her to see him like this; where mere ego kept the tears at bay for most boys when they were around others, for him it was a survival instinct. It was an subconscious gesture of ultimate trust that she would not forget any time soon.

Many minutes later he finally quieted, and his arms came tentatively around her, probably unconsciously. She silently soothed him, running her fingers through his hair in the way he liked so much, and simply waited. He would speak when he was ready; no amount of questioning would make him talk if he did not want to.

And sure enough–

"What's wrong with me?" he asked faintly, his voice hoarse and pained.

Fleur closed her eyes against the sympathetic pain that welled up inside at the question, and she rested her chin atop his head. "Zere is nuzzing wrong wiz you, 'Arry," she whispered back.

"Then why does everyone automatically assume I did something wrong?"

Fleur blinked in surprise at the unexpected question. She had thought that he was referring to the fact that he had finally broken down, but obviously she was wrong. What really bothered her, though, was that she had no good answer for him.

"I do not know," she admitted quietly, rubbing her thumb gently across his cheek. "But it is zey who are wrong, not you."

He shook his head in obvious denial. "I don't know how much more I can take, Fleur," he admitted faintly, his grip on her tightening as he thought about it. "All this, it's– It's just too much."

Fleur closed her eyes again, and her heart bled for him. That he would willingly admit that to her only underscored how much pressure he was under. Few would be able to endure what he had and still be sane, and yet somehow Harry had survived, and kept it from changing him. He still had a heart of pure gold.

Truly, he was the most amazing man she had ever met – and he could no longer be properly called a boy, if ever he could have been. He had survived horrors the like of which few could even imagine, and somehow kept going. Most of would have turned Dark after all that, if they had managed to survive at all.

She wanted nothing more than to take that pain from him and allow him to live the life he deserved, and swore that she would help him in any way that she could. Here was a man who had agreed to marry her to save her life, and he had done so before he truly knew her – and when he had not liked who he thought she was. He deserved far more than anyone could ever give.

And as she thought these things, Fleur came to a startling realization: Hermione had been right; she was in love with Harry Potter.

But really, how could she not be? Even without the fame and fortune, she genuinely enjoyed his company, and had come to believe that she would equally enjoy their life together. Her only regret was that he was forced into it; she would much rather that it had been his choice, as so few things had been in his life. But he had accepted it, and she would make the most of it – for both of them.

"You do not 'ave to do zis alone anymore," she told him softly. "I do not know 'ow long it will take, but we will get through it togezzer. I will be zere ze 'ole time."

Harry stiffened for a brief moment, and then slowly extracted himself from her arms just far enough that he could look her in the eye. The pain visible in his own broke her heart. He searched for a long moment, giving no clue to what he was looking for, and then–

"Promise?" he whispered, an edge of desperation leaking through.

"I promise, 'Arry," she told him seriously. "I will never leave you."

Harry stared at her for a long moment, his confusion evident. For once, Fleur could easily read what he was thinking: he was wondering why she would so willingly make such a declaration; his problems were enormous, and he felt that nobody else should have to deal with them. He did not understand the effect he had on others around him.

His hand came up tentatively, and he cautiously touched her cheek, wonder blooming behind his eyes. Her heart stopped at the gentle contact, and she had to make a concerted effort not to suck in a breath at the depth of feeling that it evoked in her. And then he did something that she never in a million years would have expected from him.

He leaned in, slowly and cautiously, and pressed his lips to hers.

Fleur was initially so surprised by it that she didn't react, but she was shaken from her shock when he started to pull away again, probably in disappointment. She brought her hand to the back of his head to prevent it, and kissed him back. His relief at her reaction was so profound that she could almost feel it.

It was very different from their first kiss, which she had instigated on a whim. Neither of them were experienced in the arts of romance, but whatever it lacked in technique was made up for by the sheer power of the emotion behind it. She doubted that Harry understood what he was feeling – it was clear that he did not at all understand matters of love – but for the first time, she found hope that she could earn those feelings from him.

When the kiss ended, Fleur did not bother to open her eyes again; wanting to savor the moment, she simply drew him close and wrapped her arms tightly around him. Neither broke the silence, and she was surprised to note that the tension had run out of him, and he was allowing himself to relax fully into her embrace. It was an unusual showing of vulnerability on his part.

"Thank you," she whispered emotionally.

"For what?" he asked bemusedly.

Fleur smiled faintly at his lack of understanding. "For all of zis," she explained quietly. "For sharing yourself wiz me. I love you, 'Arry."

Harry stiffened in surprise at her unexpected declaration, and her smile turned sad. This time she was not surprised when he pulled away from her; it was doubtful that he would have expected to hear such a thing. He searched her eyes for quite some time, before–

"You mean that?" he asked hesitantly.

And she truly did. The situation was unfair, but it was Harry that was taking the brunt of it. What woman who truly knew him would not love him, or wish that she could have him? True, he came with all sorts of problems, but they were minor in comparison to what he gave in return.

"Wiz all my heart, _mon amour_," she told him, gently brushing his cheek. "I love you, and I will tell you zat for ze rest of your life."

Harry blinked at her for a long moment, his eyes tearing up once again. "No one ever said that to me before," he told her faintly.

Fleur's heart lurched painfully at the admission. If anyone deserved to be loved, it was Harry! That he had been so deprived was nothing short of criminal, and she resolved in that moment that Dumbledore would pay for it, no matter what she had to do. But Harry himself came first, and she could easily sense that he needed reassurance that he was not dreaming.

"I love you," she whispered again, staring back into his eyes. "Papa loves you; Maman loves you; Gabrielle loves you; Even Grand-mère loves you. We will all tell you and show you, 'Arry. You will nevair live wizout zat again. We will not allow it."

The tears that fell from his eyes were ones of relief this time, and in that moment, she knew that he would be alright. No problem was too big for them to face together as a family; the worst possible outcome was that they would whisk him away to France, where the people who wanted to use him could no longer get to him. They would no longer let him suffer.

She wrapped him in another warm hug, and put every ounce of her belief into it. As far as Fleur Delacour was concerned, he would never be alone again. All he had to do now was realize it.

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They remained on the grounds until late in the evening, and only just returned to the castle in time for dinner. Harry was dried out; he could not remember ever having been so emotional before. In the end, though, while he was exhausted, he felt lighter somehow. And then he thought about Fleur's words to him.

He wasn't lying when he said that nobody had ever told him that, and even more amazing, he could sense her honesty.

He wanted to say it back, but he didn't know how. He was not familiar with love, never having truly experienced it, and those words were precious to him. He would not tell her until he was certain that he truly felt it, for they were not words that could be idly shared.

She understood this, though, and that was just one more thing that he liked about her.

They sat down for dinner a few minutes late, and the looks he got from his friends were predictable. Hermione, of course, was the most direct: she was deeply worried for him, and he had to smile at her in reassurance. That earned him a relieved one in return, and he was amused when she turned a thankful and slightly questioning look on Fleur.

He was thrilled that they got along, and had no doubt that they would be talking later.

Ron, of course, was oblivious to his earlier distress, and that bothered him. Instead he received a calculating look that he didn't much care for. He had a feeling that this was the beginning of the end; the cat was out of the bag, and Ron would be a handful. Hopefully he could at least last the week, as after that they would announce it and it wouldn't matter anymore.

Neville and Susan were clearly curious, but also kind enough not to ask. They needed to be told; it would be safer if they had all the information. He trusted both of them to a surprising degree; they were solid friends, and he wasn't worried.

And the twins, of course, were their usual jovial selves, though he caught the occasional looks. They knew more than they should, and while they appeared oblivious to his earlier distress, he knew better. They were just subtle about it, in that way that always made people severely underestimate them. He liked that about them.

Dumbledore was absent from the Head Table, so Harry glanced inquiringly at Fleur. Understanding his meaning without words, she drew her wand and cast another privacy bubble. All conversation stopped, and with the exception of Hermione, everyone unconsciously leaned in to hear the story.

"I'm guessing you all want to know what that was about?" he asked tiredly.

"Only if you want to tell us, mate," said Fred seriously.

"You don't have to," agreed George.

Ron looked like he disagreed with that, but wisely remained silent.

Harry rubbed his face, taking a moment to summon the energy he needed to get through the discussion. "No, you need to know," he sighed. "Just try not to yell, I've got a bit of a headache."

Taking one more deep breath, he met each set of eyes in turn, impressing on them the seriousness of the situation. They knew him well enough to be able to tell that he was not joking, and that it was not a prank. Hermione gave him a supportive look, which he genuinely appreciated, and Fleur's presence was a great comfort.

"You all know that Fleur is veela," he began. "Problem is, veela and life debts don't mix. If a veela owes someone a life debt, their magic will call it due in roughly thirty days."

Neville and Susan reacted the most visibly: their eyes widened in alarm. Fred and George just nodded sagely, and of course Hermione already knew. Ron looked plum confused at why he was telling them this, but Harry ignored him.

"I saved Fleur's life during the Second Task when she was attacked by a pack of grindylows," he continued. "She owes me a life debt, and if she doesn't pay it back, she loses her magic, and that's a surefire way to kill a veela."

Susan sucked in a breath. "But the only way she can pay it back is–"

"–to marry me, yes," nodded Harry. "The wedding is this weekend. You're all invited, which was why I got that howler from Mrs. Weasley earlier. I guess she didn't get the memo. And no, this is not a joke."

Fleur's hand moved to the small of his back, and he smiled at her briefly before taking in the reactions. Fred and George looked thoughtful, but not surprised. Neville and Susan were stunned but supportive, just like he expected. And Ron...

...Ron looked both impressed and jealous as hell.

Lovely.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Fleur," said Fred.

"But that sucks pretty hard, Harry," finished George.

"I know," he nodded. "But I could have done a hell of a lot worse than Fleur, and I don't mean because she's pretty."

Fleur ducked her head in embarrassment, which made him smile at her. He had a feeling that it was rare for someone to say something like that where she was concerned, but he would be happy to let her know for as long as possible that he wasn't after her for her beauty. It was the person inside, the one that he was just coming to know, that he liked so much.

"True, that," nodded Fred, still serious.

"I don't think we could have chosen better for you, Harry," nodded George.

"Like we said before, she likes you."

"So don't hack her off."

Fleur snorted in amusement. "When did you say zis?" she grinned.

"Snape night," smirked George.

"First time you kissed him on the cheek," grinned Fred.

"He kinda zoned out."

"So we borrowed him and had a little talk."

"Keep him on the straight and narrow, you know."

Harry snorted. "Like you two are ones to talk," he smirked. "Your straight and narrow is my windy road."

The twins grinned widely at him, and he had a feeling that particular slogan would end up on a tee shirt at some point, though probably creatively reversed. They had a perverse way of looking at life, but he had to admire them: it always worked out well in the end. He wished he could be so carefree.

"I don't see what's so bad about it," said Ron with a faint scowl. "I mean, she's a veela! It doesn't get much better than that!"

Hermione's countenance darkened ominously. "Don't be so shallow, Ronald," she hissed quietly.

"What?" he retorted. "I don't see a downside. He's bloody lucky! He got the best of the lot!"

Harry caught Fleur's narrowed eyes, and shook his head subtly at her to keep her from speaking. He decided he would let the others handle this as much as possible; Ron was an idiot. And Neville seemed to agree.

"You're an idiot, Ron," he scowled. "How would you like it if you were forced to marry, say, Pansy Parkinson?"

"What does that have to do with anything?" scowled Ron.

"Everything, Ronniekins," said Fred seriously, "because that's exactly what happened to Harry."

"The fact she's not Pansy is only luck," nodded George. "Just because she's pretty, doesn't mean it'll work out."

Harry had never seen the twins so serious or insightful before, and frankly it was a bit disturbing. He made a mental note to do something nice for them some time; they had probably done a lot more for him than he was aware of. They were always there in the background, quietly taking care of business, and they paid a lot more attention than anyone knew.

"But she _isn't_ Pansy," scowled Ron.

"So if we force you to marry Parvati Patil next week–"

"–you would jump for joy and go do it?"

Ron blinked.

"They're right, Ron," said Harry quietly, finally deciding to say his piece. "At first I thought I _was_ marrying someone like Parkinson. It was terrifying. Yes, things are working out, but that doesn't make it right or easy. For one, I'll never know who I would have ended up with otherwise."

"I will do my best to make it worth your while, 'Arry," said Fleur softly.

"I know you will," he smiled sadly back. "And we'll both probably always wonder, but I hope we'll never have regrets."

Fleur nodded and brushed her hand through his hair, apparently having figured out that he liked that. It was pleasant, and very relaxing. He wished he could go back and curl up with her in the carriage later to fall asleep; her mere presence soothed him in a way he had never experienced before.

"Well, congratulations, guys, either way," said Neville after a few moments. "You're right, you could have done a whole lot worse. I think you're good together."

"Me too," agreed Susan, "and I'll definitely be there. I think Auntie is planning on going, too."

"Thanks, guys," smiled Harry.

"Yes, _Merci_," smiled Fleur. "You 'ave all been wonderful."

Harry knew she wasn't including Ron in that, but didn't say anything. "You can't say anything until after it's over," he sighed finally. "There are people who will try to stop it, not to mention the press, and we can't let that happen. We'll announce it after it's all said and done."

"No worries, mate," said Fred.

"Our lips are sealed," nodded George.

The rest of the table nodded their understanding, with the sole exception of Ron. He was too busy staring again, but it was different now. He was looking at her not just with lust, but also with a massive dose of jealousy, and a healthy dose of anger. Harry wondered how long it would take for him to destroy what little remained of their friendship, but doubted it would be long now.

And Fleur noticed.

"Remember my warning, Ronald," she said quietly, meeting his gaze with a dark one of her own. "'Arry is and always will be my mate, and we veela are very protective. Do not release ze secret, or you will deal wiz me."

Ron nodded sharply, but Harry doubted he truly heard.

He was too busy raging internally about the supposed unfairness of his life.


	19. The Wedding

**A/N: I am once again floored by the response! Over a thousand reviews, and the story isn't even half over yet, so thank you! For those who are craving some action, don't worry, it's coming. I just hope I don't lose the other half of you when it finally arrives. :-)**

**The missing chapter is still missing, so prepare to be jarred. Moving sucks, and my muse gets downright surly with me when I spend too much time in the real world. It outright refused to provide me with anything that bridged the gap and didn't completely torch the progression I already have laid out. Go figure.**

**Next update is probably a week away again; as I said before, moving sucks.**

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**Chapter 19**

The Wedding

The rest of the week was remarkably calm, all things considered. Harry attended his classes during the day, and split his evenings between Fleur and Sebastian. The latter had a number of things to discuss with him, ranging from recommended changes to his financial position, to explaining how the wedding would work.

And then he blinked, and the week was gone.

Before he knew it, he found himself standing in a daze on the grounds of the Chateau, which turned out to be an actual castle. While it was the size of an average mansion rather than something like Hogwarts, it was still quite impressive. Situated on plush, expansive grounds, it was like something out of a fairytale.

Light-colored stonework glittered under the rays of the morning sun, giving the place an almost ethereal glow that reminded him of Fleur. Beautiful stained glass was interspersed here and there among large picture windows, as though the designer wanted the beauty without sacrificing the view of the grounds. Spires rose at the four corners like miniature versions of Gryffindor Tower.

And all around was an expanse of rolling hills and valleys, carpeted with plush green grass, and dotted here and there with trees so ancient that they had probably outlived even Merlin himself. The ocean was visible on the horizon, and the sound of distant waves crashing upon the shore was remarkably soothing. It was breathtaking, and incredibly peaceful.

But Harry was having a hard time taking it in.

A heavy weight had settled on him in the last hours as he realized the sheer magnitude of what was about to happen. True, for three weeks now he'd known intellectually that he was getting married, and that it was forever, but that was intellectually. His subconscious mind, on the other hand, insisted on seeing it as just another adventure that would last through the year and be done.

But that wasn't going to happen, was it? Never again would he return to his dreary existence at the Dursleys; instead he would be here in this idyllic setting. This was his reality now, but it didn't seem at all real; how could it be? It was too good to be true.

And then there was Fleur. She was no longer merely a visiting guest who he barely knew and wouldn't have to worry about after the year was over. No, in too short a time, she would become his wife who he barely knew instead.

She was not simply going away. She would be part of his life forever. He could barely fathom the actual meaning of the word, and where he once had vague ideas and dreams about how his future would go, he no longer had a single clue. What would it be like living with her for the rest of his life?

The entire concept was incomprehensible, and thinking about it made his chest tighten painfully.

"Ready, kiddo?"

Harry blinked out of his daze and turned to see his godfather approaching from the direction of the Chateau. Nobody had told him ahead of time that he'd made it to safety, and it was a wonderful surprise. He looked much better: gone were the rags and the matted hair, and in their place were fine robes and a sleek ponytail that made him look quite distinguished.

True, his eyes were still haunted, and he had a long way to go before his cheeks would lose that sunken look, but it was still a massive improvement, and lessened Harry's worries considerably. Instead of running from the Ministry, he would live with the Delacours until something more permanent could be arranged. He would eat well and be comfortable, and Harry would be able to see him from time to time, which was brilliant.

Harry snorted morbidly at him, though. "Ready?" he echoed in honest confusion. "Sirius, I don't think I'll be ready for this in ten years! What the hell am I doing?"

Sirius approached him and studied his expression for a long moment. "You're saving the life of a beautiful girl," he said seriously as he clapped him on the shoulder. "It's a damn fine thing to do, and the rest will work itself out, alright? Now, just try to relax and get through it."

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to nod, though he somehow doubted it would be so easy. His heart rate increased as Sirius steered him toward the pavilion under which he would cement his future, and he did his best to breathe and remain calm. It was difficult to do.

The pavilion was situated in a shallow depression near the Chateau, with white latticework surrounding a hexagonal platform, and a domed roof overhead. The latticework rose only a couple of feet from the floor, providing for easy viewing for the assembled guests. Even from a distance, Harry could easily pick out the stately form of Amelia Bones as she waited patiently for him.

Surrounding the structure, the guests sat in simple white chairs set out in a crescent formation, broken only by the aisle that ran up the middle. A long red carpet had been laid over the grass there, and it ran all the way through the open area in front and up the steps, clinging to their shape, and into the pavilion. To the side was a simple platform where a string quartet was playing some kind of march that he wasn't familiar with.

Harry squared his shoulders and stood tall as he walked up the aisle with Sirius by his side. Unlike Muggle weddings, wizards had no concept of bridesmaids or best men; there was only family, who were there for support until the time came. And though his godfather's hand had finally fallen from his shoulder, he was grateful for his presence.

He could not believe he was actually doing this!

Sirius separated at the base of the pavilion, leaving him to climb the stairs on his own, as was required. Sebastian had explained that it was symbolic: family could follow you many places, but there were some where you could only walk alone. This decision was his to make, and nobody could make it for him.

Taking a deep breath, but not slowing, Harry ascended the two shallow steps onto the floor of the pavilion, and then turned to await his bride. He had not yet seen the guests, and he was surprised at how many there were, even if it was only thirty or so. Most were human, but there were also quite a few veela, and he even noticed with some surprise that Riptooth and Ragnok had come.

Sebastian and Arienne sat to his right in the front row; both were smiling, and though Arienne already had tears in her eyes, they were clearly tears of joy. Next to her, Caterine's expression was more mischievous, but what she was thinking about, he would probably never know. He smiled at all of them, silently acknowledging them as his new family, as unreal as that still seemed.

On the other side of the aisle was Sirius, who had just taken his place, and next to him sat a dazed-looking Remus Lupin, to Harry's pleasure. Professor McGonagall of all people – he was surprised she decided to attend – was sitting next to them, eyeing them warily. He couldn't keep the slight smirk off his face; she'd likely had far too much experience of their pranks.

And on both sides of the aisle in the second row sat many of the Weasleys.

To Arthur he gave a genuine smile, but Molly was another matter entirely. Though she'd sent a long and apparently very sincere letter of apology, it was still very hard to forgive her. He was no longer confident in her opinion of him, and that was a bitter pill to swallow; he simply didn't trust her anymore. But, not wanting to have any regrets later, he'd invited her anyway.

The twins sat opposite their parents on the other side, and both were grinning, though there was a serious look in their eyes that once again underscored that one should never underestimate them. They knew this was a solemn if joyful occasion, and they would not make a scene. He hadn't even thought to warn them off from it, but it appeared to be unnecessary, at least for the ceremony.

Next to them was Ginny, and he was shocked to see her in tears. She looked heartbroken! He knew she had a crush on him, but was it really that serious? His smile faltered upon seeing it, but he forced it back to his lips. He'd never thought of her in the way she wanted, and she was going to have to get used to that, but he still didn't want to offend her.

And all the way on the other side, next to his parents, sat Ron.

While he probably thought that his feelings were well hidden, Harry knew him too well not to see them. His jealousy was reaching insane proportions. He viewed Harry's life through rose tinted glasses, and would likely never understand what that life would cost him if he had it himself. It was sad, but Harry didn't want to think about that today, so he merely maintained his now-wooden smile and moved on.

He recognized many other faces. Hermione and her parents, sitting behind the Weasleys, beaming at him; Neville Longbottom, sitting next to Hermione, holding her hand; Susan Bones, on the other side of the aisle next to Neville's grandmother. He even spotted Dobby lurking in back, and many more besides who he had never met before – mostly the veela.

And then the music changed, and all was forgotten as he turned his attention to where Fleur was making her approach.

She was, in a word, _stunning!_

And frankly, that didn't do her justice. She was as radiant as ever, even with her allure restrained. Her flowing white robes shimmered, adding to her natural glow. Her silver hair shone brightly under the sun, arranged in a neat plait that fell down her back, only a few loose wisps framing her delicate features.

She looked happier than he had ever seen her, and he could detect no fear or regret behind her eyes, which surprised him and made his smile turn truly genuine. All other considerations aside, it was astounding that he could end up with such a beautiful creature. She even put the other veela to shame, at least in Harry's opinion.

Gabrielle held her hand as they approached, her head turning every which way as she tried to take everything in at once. She, too, was dressed in white robes, and looked terribly cute. Fleur had insisted that she be the one to deliver her to the pavilion; she loved her sister deeply, and wanted her involved. Harry could only agree that she was the perfect choice.

The younger veela, however, could not hold his attention like her sister could.

Gabrielle obediently peeled off to go sit with her parents, and Harry offered an arm as Fleur gracefully ascended the steps. She accepted with a soft smile, and then they both moved forward, coming to a stop in front of Madam Bones. The woman smiled pleasantly down at them, giving each a subtle nod before looking out over the guests.

The quartet fell silent, and a hush fell over the area as the ceremony began.

"Good morning," announced Amelia in a clear, ringing tone. "We are here today to witness the joining of two lives in the eyes of Magic. Variations of this ceremony extend to us from the dawn of time itself, through the time of Merlin and the Founders, and onward to the present day. Of all the many traditions we hold dear, this is the most profound; the most sacred.

"As Merlin himself once said, while we can brew our potions and cast our spells, the true beauty of magic lies not in those simple things, but in the bonds of friendship and love. Each of our lives affects countless others in infinite and unpredictable ways. But never will that magic be more visible than between two people who choose to share their hearts, their lives, and their souls.

"Today's union is unique in that it is one borne of necessity. A month ago, these two young people did not even know each other. They were merely faces in the crowd, noticed but not understood. There was no bond between them, and they so easily could have parted none the wiser.

"But Magic works in mysterious ways. Though this joining is necessary for the survival of the bride, neither of these young people have taken it for granted. They have instead chosen to build something much stronger, much deeper, and much more resilient. They have learned about each other; they have come to respect each other; and they have come to like each other.

"And as surely as I stand before you today, ladies and gentlemen, I believe that they have come to love each other."

Harry and Fleur exchanged smiles, though on Harry's part that smile was a little sad. He did not truly understand what Fleur felt for him, let alone what he felt for her, and he would not even consider lying to her about that. But Amelia's words gave him hope, and he felt deep in his soul that one day he really _would_ come to love her.

And he wanted to, for what would his life be, if he never found love?

"And so it is my honor," continued Amelia, "to join these two lives today. And to that end, I now call upon these two people to come forth and proclaim their bond."

With another deep breath, Harry took a symbolic step forward, as did Fleur beside him. And again his nerves flared up, for what he was about to do could never be undone. But he squelched them, reminding himself that he liked her, and that he must do this, because he could not allow her to die.

"Harry James Potter," intoned Amelia, "I ask you now, should you choose it, to swear your life to this woman before these witnesses."

Harry swallowed the lump in his throat, stood up a little straighter, turned to face Fleur, and drew his wand from the pocket of his robes, hold it loosely at his side. He was so nervous that it took a moment for him to remember what he was supposed to say, but he was fast enough that nobody noticed. And in a clear voice that surprised even himself, he took the first step.

"On my magic," he said as he stared into her eyes, "I do hereby swear my allegiance, my magic, and my life to this woman, that no other shall come between us."

Amelia nodded and shifted her gaze to Fleur. "Fleur Annalise Delacour," she intoned, "I ask you now, should you choose it, to swear your life to this man before these witnesses."

And like Harry, Fleur drew her wand to hold at her side, never taking her gaze from him. He could see the deep emotions swimming in her eyes. "On my magic," she said clearly, "I do 'ereby swear my allegiance, my magic, and my life to this man, that no other shall come between us."

Harry felt a deep warmth flow through him at her words, spoken with such conviction. This was not a mere show for him; these words had meaning, and he could tell that just as he meant every word he spoke, so had she. And to hear her pledge herself to him in that fashion moved him deeply.

Remembering what was supposed to happen now, Harry raised his wand so that the tip met Fleur's in the space between them, just barely touching. Fleur smiled at him, and he could not help but return it, even as Amelia started speaking again.

"I, Amelia Susan Bones, do hereby seal these oaths, and I call upon Magic to bind these souls in matrimony, that they may be as one from this day forth." And with that, she added her own wand to the mix and intoned, "So mote it be!"

"So mote it be!" echoed Harry and Fleur in unison.

Harry had never before seen Magic invoked in this fashion. It was usually spells and incantations, or a simple oath that a single person gave. But it worked, and what happened next surprised him, as nobody had warned him about it.

First the dim white glow appeared as he'd been told it would, but it was only supposed to last for a second or two. Instead it remained, and then grew brighter – and quickly started acquiring color. And as the magic swelled he felt it moving within him, seeking out his magical core, worming its way inside.

It took only a moment to realize that what he was feeling was _Fleur's_ magic.

It was warm, and it was comforting, and though Harry had never known the meaning of the word, it felt _loving_. It wormed its way deep within, wrapping around him, bringing him a sense of peace that he'd never known before. And as it began to fade, the only word he had to describe what he was feeling was _complete_.

Meanwhile, the colorful glow settled into a deep golden hue, the light of it reflected brightly in Fleur's wide eyes. She, apparently, hadn't expected this either. But they only had a moment more to appreciate it before it began to fade, receding into their skin, fusing with their very beings.

It left them breathless.

There was a ringing silence as the glow faded out, leaving the couple staring in awe at each other. In that moment, there was nobody else in the world. He stared deeply into her eyes, and though a multitude of questions intruded on his consciousness, none of them mattered.

And then, finally, Amelia broke the silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen," she announced, "The bond has been formed, and these two are now one. It is my honor, and my great pleasure, to introduce to you for the first time, Harry and Fleur Potter!" Catcalls and whistles went up at the announcement, even as she amended in a quiet undertone, "Go on."

Fleur's expression cleared at her prompt, and even as Harry remembered what came next, her smile turned blinding. He could not stop himself from mirroring it as he leaned in, and as their lips brushed, he wrapped his arms around her. He would never know how long that kiss lasted, for it went on for an eternity, but was far too short.

Their guests were still applauding when they finally drew apart, but before Harry could offer Fleur his arm, Amelia put a hand on each of their shoulders to stop them. He looked up at her questioningly, but she just gave him a smile and a wink.

"Let it be known," she boomed, silencing the crowd almost instantly, "that this union has been blessed by Magic herself, as I stand in witness. A golden aura such as we saw today is very rare. This union is Chosen of Magic, and I think it safe to say that they will have a wonderful life together."

Another huge round of applause went up, and Harry exchanged a wide-eyed look with Fleur. He didn't understand even half of that, but he knew it was a big deal. He would have to ask about it later; he was certain Sebastian would know, and failing that, then he could ask Hermione. He had no doubt that by now she had read all about magical marriage customs...

"Shall we, _mon amour?_" smiled Fleur.

Harry nodded and with a smile, he led her out of the clearing, and into their new life together.


	20. Moments In Time

**A/N: Okay, first I need to apologize profusely for the long delay. Things got a bit crazy after the move, and on top of it all, my muse refused to speak to me afterwards (it gets tetchy about changes of scenery). Took me forever to get this done; this is, like, the 682nd rewrite of this chapter. The rest were garbage. :(**

**I would like to say that the updates will be faster, but while I _will_ try, I unfortunately can't guarantee it at the moment. I'm in talks to end my long vacation, so it's very likely that my time will be much more limited in the near future (which is a bittersweet sort of thing for me: I've been unemployed by choice, but I miss having something useful to do with myself). Don't worry, I have no intention of abandoning this. :-)**

**And again, thank you SO much for the reviews. It truly makes this worth doing! The fact that it's now 1300+ boggles my mind. :-)**

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**Chapter 20**

Moments In Time

The reception took place in Fleur's favorite glen on the far side of the pavilion. She had no doubt that her parents had chosen it for just that reason, and she was very pleased. It was her favorite place to play as a child, and as she grew older, she often came here to escape and find peace.

The ancient oak trees surrounding it were decorated with colorful streamers, and she swore she saw a fairy or two flitting amongst the branches, which meant that it would be quite a display come nightfall. A buffet table stood at one end, piled high with snacks and refreshments, and a portable dance floor dominated the other. In between were numerous tables, all draped with fine white linens.

Having finally escaped the requisite encounters with the more prominent guests – including the French Minister of Magic himself – Fleur was now listening to Hermione yammer on about her wedding ring. Unlike Muggle weddings, the rings were not purchased and exchanged by the bride and groom; instead, they were summoned by the bonding magic. Hers was a delicate platinum band topped with a tastefully understated diamond, and it was giving the girl fits at the moment.

"But that's impossible!" she burst. "Gamp's Third Law clearly states that you can't conjure precious metals or gems!"

Her parents stood on either side of her, and looked highly amused by her reaction. Given the number of questions that they themselves had asked about the ceremony, it was obvious where she had come by her personality. This amused Fleur to no end.

"It is one of ze greatest mysteries of magic, 'ermione," she told her patiently. "Zere are many theories, but it 'as never been explained."

"Maybe they're not conjured," put in Neville unexpectedly from somewhere behind her, startling her and making her jump. "They could be translocated from somewhere or something."

Fleur flashed him a smile as he passed and shrugged noncommittally. Predictably, Hermione latched onto the theory and launched into a highly technical discussion with him as he took up a position by her side. Though he probably did not understand even half of it, he endured it patiently; he clearly loved the girl.

She soon tuned them out, however. Harry had gone off to get drinks some time ago and had yet to return, and she was starting to worry. Though he had not uttered a single word of complaint, she was well aware that the first two hours of the reception had been exceedingly difficult for him; he hated attention of any kind, and on this occasion he was receiving it in spades.

But as she scanned the crowd, her attention was caught by someone else.

Ginny Weasley sat sullenly at a nearby table, shooting her a dark glare. This was not the first time she had noticed it; the girl had been doing it ever since the ceremony. She had no idea what she might have done to deserve it, but Ginny was clearly angry with her for some reason.

"Why is she looking at me like zat?" she wondered, interrupting the conversation.

"Who?" frowned Hermione. Then she followed Fleur's gaze and groaned. "Oh boy," she sighed.

Fleur turned away from the obviously angry redhead and gave Hermione her full attention. "Did I do somezing to offend 'er?" she asked bluntly.

"Yeah," snorted Neville. "You married Harry."

Fleur blinked bemusedly.

"Uh oh," chuckled Hermione's father. "I think someone has a little crush!"

His wife and daughter whacked him lightly on either arm in silent rebuke for the comment, but then Hermione confirmed it. "He's right," she nodded, throwing him a darkly amused look. "She grew up on stories about him, and swore she would marry him someday."

Fleur turned back to study the girl in question, who was still trying to burn holes in her from afar. "I think I must deal wiz zis," she said with a weary sigh. "Will you keep 'Arry busy for me when 'e comes back?"

Hermione couldn't hold in her wince. "Sure," she nodded, "but I don't think it'll do much good, Fleur. She's been pining after him for years."

"Be zat as it may," said Fleur darkly, "'e is my 'usband, and she needs to– 'ow do you say? Get over it?"

"Good luck with that," said Neville with uncharacteristic sarcasm.

Fleur just rolled her eyes at him and made for Ginny's table. In truth, while it was annoying, she would not ordinarily have said anything – but given how Harry felt about the Weasleys, she did not want any more of them to turn on him. Ron was already giving him fits, and Molly had added to it significantly. A third such incident would do nobody any good.

Ginny's eyes narrowed at her approach, but she ignored it; the girl was not nearly as intimidating as she seemed to think she was.

She was the only one at the table, so Fleur plopped down across from her without so much as a word. Ginny's eyes narrowed further, but she met her angry gaze unflinchingly and allowed the silence to spiral, if only to prove that she was unaffected by it.

"Would you like to tell me why you are so angry wiz me?" she asked eventually.

"I think you know," growled Ginny.

Fleur arched an eyebrow, leaned back in her chair, and folded her arms across her chest. In her experience, that kind of response meant only one thing: she did not want to say, because she did not want to look foolish. It was a bit late for that, though.

"I do not like to make assumptions," she said directly. "I would rather 'ear it from you."

Ginny stared back at her for a long while, her cheeks heating in either anger or embarrassment, Fleur couldn't tell which. If Hermione was right about this – which she had no doubt of – then the girl really _did_ need to get over it. Harry was a married man now, and as far as she knew, he had never had any kind of romantic interest in her.

"You trapped him," Ginny eventually hissed.

Fleur snorted morbidly. "We were both trapped," she countered flatly.

"You don't look too upset about it," snarled Ginny.

"I am not upset _now_," she said pointedly, "but I was not 'appy when I found out, of zis I assure you."

Ginny snorted in obvious disbelief. "Oh, right!" she spat. "Looks, fame, money, he's got it all! I'll bet you were thrilled!"

The girl's voice was starting to rise, so Fleur drew her wand under the table and cast a privacy charm to keep others from listening in. She had a bad feeling that Ginny took after her mother in that she simply assumed that she was right. The apple had not fallen far from the tree.

"I 'ave no wish to be famous, Ginny," she replied quietly, her voice taking on a slight edge, "and I 'ave money and beauty enough for both of us. I do not care about zose things any more zan 'Arry does."

"Whatever," the girl snorted. "I'm sure you're just what he needs!" Then she leaned forward and once again tried for the intimidating glare, but completely missed the mark. "You're a complete bitch, and everyone knows it!" she hissed. "You're totally wrong for him! He deserves _far_ better than you!"

Fleur's eyes narrowed involuntarily at the frank insult. She was quite used to it, so it didn't really affect her, but this girl had a lot of nerve to say it to her face, and on her wedding day no less. If she couldn't handle it, then she shouldn't have come!

But what really made her angry was the girl's blanket assumption that she knew what was best for Harry. Knowing what she now did, Fleur doubted that even Hermione was qualified to say that, and she knew him better than anyone else. None of them had a single clue who he really was.

It also struck her as ironic that they were both being lusted after by members of the Weasley family, but she pushed that thought away as quickly as she could.

Fleur leaned forward again and hit the girl with one of her best glares, causing her eyes to widen slightly. When she spoke, it was with a deliberation that underscored her deadly seriousness. She was not messing around.

"Do not presume to know me, Ginny," she growled. "And for zat matter, do not presume to know 'Arry. You know nuzzing at all about eizzer of us, zis I promise you. Make no mistake, 'e is my 'usband, and zat will nevair change."

Fleur had to admit that she was impressed when Ginny didn't back down. Most people who saw her in this state ran the other direction! Her irritation was not feigned, and it was never wise to anger a veela. But Ginny held her ground, her eyes going back to narrow slits.

"If you hurt him, so help me..." she ground out.

A snort escaped Fleur before she could squelch it. This little girl was threatening her! It was cute, in an appalling sort of way. But it did tell her one thing: while there was no doubt that her reaction was mostly due to her obvious jealousy, there was also more to her feelings than that...

"'Arry is my mate, Ginny," she said, forcing her voice to lose most of its edge. "Do not doubt even for a moment zat I will defend 'im wiz my life, just as surely as 'e gave up 'is own for me." Then she lowered her voice, and dropped any pretense. "And I am 'is wife," she said quietly. "If you cannot get past your jealousy, zen you will lose 'is friendship entirely. 'E would not 'ave made such a profound oath unwillingly, and I zink you know zat."

Ginny stared at her for a long moment as the statement sunk in, and then her cheeks abruptly lost their color. Fleur nodded in satisfaction: the girl had apparently forgotten that, in spite of his shy personality, Harry always did what he felt was right, no matter the cost. He had promised never to let anyone come between them, and without a doubt, he _meant_ that promise.

Seeing that no response was forthcoming, Fleur rose gracefully to her feet, satisfied that she at least wouldn't be glared at for the rest of the day. "Think about it," she said softly. "'E values 'is friends greatly, and you will 'urt 'im worse zan you know if you keep zis up."

Then, having done what she came to do, she turned and walked unhurriedly back toward the shady spot where Hermione and her parents were still standing. It was with some relief that she realized that Harry had finally returned; he was facing away from her, and somewhere along the line he had picked up a passenger. Gabrielle was riding piggy-back, with her chin resting on his shoulder as she watched the conversation.

The scene brought a soft smile to Fleur's face. She loved her sister dearly, and she was very glad to see that he got along so well with her. They had not yet discussed the idea of having a family of their own, but she suspected that he would make an excellent father some day.

She sidled up to him and took his arm, her free hand snatching the glass of punch that he had kindly brought for her, and when he turned to her, his eyes softened as was becoming commonplace. His exhaustion was reflected clearly there, but so was his determination: he would make it through the day come hell or high water. It made her want to comb her fingers through his hair in an offering of quiet comfort, but she had no free hands with which to do so.

"Everything alright?" he asked quietly, not noticing the scrutiny he was suddenly under from the elder Grangers, who had yet to see them together.

Fleur nodded at him. "She will come around," she shrugged, knowing full well that Hermione would have told him what was going on. "It will just take some time."

He nodded and leaned into her a little. "Thanks, Fleur," he sighed. "I really didn't want to deal with it today."

In response, she leaned over and planted a soft kiss on his forehead, which made him close his eyes in obvious enjoyment. And as she pulled back, she saw a wide smile on her sister's face: she was apparently quite thrilled that he was part of the family now. It was fortunate that her sister had decided not to be jealous; that would not have been fun.

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For Harry, the entire event was completely surreal. He still had yet to wrap his head around the fact that he was married. But even so, and even with the stress he was under from dealing with so many strangers, he would not have traded it for the world.

He would remember this day for the rest of his life, and was immensely pleased that it was going off without a hitch.

They were standing near the buffet table now, where Sirius and Remus were holding court with the Delacours and Amelia Bones. The discussion currently centered around Sirius: France had raised the issue of his innocence with Britain, but Minister Fudge refused to pull his head out of the sand. To say that Amelia was frustrated was putting it mildly.

"We need to get that man out of office," she growled. "He has to be the worst Minister we've ever had!"

"If only it were so easy," sighed Sebastian. "For now there is little we can do. Minister Bertrand 'as tried to force the issue, but 'e as made little progress."

"Why not leak it to the press?" wondered Harry. "Wouldn't that put pressure on him to do something?"

"Fudge has too much control over the Prophet, Harry," frowned Remus. "He'd force them not to print it."

Harry scowled. The more he saw of magical government in Britain, the more convinced he was that it was completely corrupt. Fudge was an idiot, and with someone like Lucius Malfoy pulling his strings, he was practically a supporter of Voldemort. And the fact that he controlled the press explained an awful lot.

"At least Sirius is safe," soothed Fleur, combing her fingers gently through his hair. "Ze Aurors 'ere know zat 'e is innocent, so zey will not bozzer 'im."

Harry closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, but he just couldn't let the subject go. "We should just buy the Prophet," he groused. "It would make life so much easier."

Fleur chuckled at the comment, and Sirius let out a bark of laughter and slapped Remus on the shoulder. "Wouldn't that be a great prank, Moony?" he grinned. "We could turn the whole thing against Fudge!"

Remus just rolled his eyes, though. "There's a _reason_ he controls the Prophet, Padfoot," he replied dryly. "It's called majority ownership. Good luck with buying–"

"_Padfoot?" _interrupted two voices simultaneously.

The incredulous chorus startled Harry, and he turned to see a stunned Fred and George staring blankly at Sirius; apparently they had passed by at just the right moment and overheard part of the conversation. An evil grin slowly spread on his lips: he had forgotten they didn't know who their idols really were.

"Yes?" frowned Sirius.

"Padfoot?" repeated one of them. "Really?"

Sirius blinked bemusedly at them for a long moment before– "Moony," he said slowly, turning to Remus. "Did I miss something?"

"_You're_ Moony?" burst the twins, staring incredulously at Remus.

"Er, yes?" blinked Remus.

"That's impossible!" said one of the twins.

"Way too stuffy to be Moony," nodded the other emphatically.

"Harrykins put you up to this, right?" asked the first.

Harry chortled at their obvious disbelief. It had never occurred to him to tell them the real story behind the Marauders, and apparently Ron had never done so either. He almost wished that he'd thought of it earlier; he could have gotten a lot of mileage out of it...

But he was distracted when Sirius turned to him and cocked an eyebrow. "Care to explain, Dupli-Prongs?" he asked pointedly.

Harry snorted at the nickname, and ignored Fred and George when they turned to stare incredulously at him. "It's a bit of a story, Padfoot," he smiled. "See, back in third year I needed a way out of the castle, and Fred and George here decided to help me out by giving me a blank piece of parchment." He smirked as he added, "Then they made me solemnly swear that I was up to no good."

A highly impressed look came over Sirius, and he turned an appraising gaze on the twins. "You stole the Map back from Filch?" he breathed.

Both twins blinked.

"Yeah," frowned one of them – Fred, if Harry wasn't mistaken. "Found it in first year."

"It was in a cabinet marked 'Confiscated and Highly Dangerous," confirmed George.

"What map is zis?" asked Arienne curiously.

"The Marauder's Map," explained Remus with a dreamy look. "We made it when we were at Hogwarts. It's a map of the entire castle that shows where everyone is."

"Great for troublemaking," nodded Sirius. "We almost never got caught after that."

"Until Wormtail lost it to Flich," growled Remus.

"Sounds like you 'ad fun in your school days," grinned Sebastian.

"They're famous!" burst George. "Best pranksters Hogwarts ever saw!"

"Why thank you," preened Sirius, even as Remus grinned happily at the praise.

"Wait," frowned Fred, turning a look on Harry. "Does that mean your dad was Prongs?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded. "And Pettigrew was Wormtail."

There was a brief silence, and then George turned back to Remus. "No way," he said with a shake of his head. "Sirius I can believe, and maybe James Potter, but you? There's no way _you're_ Moony."

"Where do you think the nickname comes from?" asked Remus with an arched eyebrow. "Werewolf, remember?"

Both twins blinked at that, and Sirius chortled. "He was the perfect foil," he grinned. "The only one of us that never got caught. McGonagall was appalled when she found out."

"Too right!" came the voice of the stern Transfiguration Professor as she approached from the other side of their little group. She immediately fixed Sirius with one of her patented glares, too. "You're not encouraging these two, are you?" she asked him pointedly.

"No!" sputtered Sirius, putting his hands up in a placating gesture. "Not at all!"

Everyone burst out laughing as Sirius backpedaled, including McGonagall. Meanwhile, Fleur wrapped her arms around Harry from behind and rested her chin atop of his head. Overcome by a pleasant warmth, he leaned back and closed his eyes, savoring the sensation.

For the first time he could remember, he felt as though all was right with the world. He had never known what it was to have a family, but describing these people in that fashion just felt... _right_. He had Sirius and Remus to represent his parents, and now the Delacours, who he was rapidly becoming close with. And that was to say nothing of his newly-minted wife...

And as the conversation continued around him, he could only pray that he would have this for a long time to come.


	21. The Announcement

**A/N: So there I was, wandering through the desert in search of my muse, when an oasis appeared. Miles and miles of wonderful fanfiction stretched out before me, and before I knew it, I was lost. It was only some time later that my muse found me instead and dragged me kicking and screaming back to the barren pages that needed filling.**

**And here it is: the long awaited update.**

**In all seriousness, the last chapter received over 230 reviews, and again I must thank you all for blowing my mind. Unfortunately, this chapter (along with the next two or three) were scheduled for complete rewrites, and this one in particular was remarkably difficult. Dumbledore is a pain in the arse to write ****in this story****. That said, I hope you like it.**

**I intend to start immediately on the next chapter, which will hopefully be out in a few days. I happen to have some time to myself at the moment (*cackles evilly*), so I might actually be able to keep that promise...**

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**Chapter 21**

The Announcement

Monday dawned dark and drizzly in stark contrast to Harry's mood. The chill caused Fleur to draw him closer as they trudged toward the castle, and he took significant comfort from her warmth. They were still riding high on the events of the weekend, incredibly pleased that the wedding had gone so smoothly.

The night that followed was a bit less than perfect, but in retrospect, that was to be expected.

While the boys in the Gryffindor dormitory often had crude conversations about girls, they always seemed to speak in some kind of code. Harry had, of course, heard of sex – and the various crass colloquialisms that referred to it – but he honestly had no clue what the word actually _meant_. There were no adults in his life who would explain such things to him, and he was too embarrassed about it to ask anyone.

That left Fleur to do the honors, and he could honestly say that it was the most embarrassing conversation that he had ever endured. She caught him totally off-guard when she tried to undress him, and his sudden panic clued her in that he had no idea why she would do such a thing. She was patient with him, though, and while she was equally embarrassed, they somehow got through it.

He likely would have run were she anyone else.

They would rather have waited a while before having such an intimate encounter, but they could do nothing about it. Consummation of their marriage was required for the repayment of the life debt, so they had no choice. That said, he could not deny that he enjoyed the experience immensely, and while he was still a bit hesitant about intimate contact, he was looking forward to the next time.

And in the end, it was good for their relationship. Fleur was a remarkably gentle woman, a far cry from his impression of her when they first met, and the way she handled the matter earned his complete trust. There were few important secrets remaining between them – none that he could actually think of, in fact – and between that and the knowledge that she would always be there for him, he felt a deep sense of peace and contentment.

But that only lasted until they entered the Great Hall.

They were a bit late in arriving for breakfast because Sebastian had some last minute things to discuss with them before they returned to Hogwarts, and the silence that fell at their appearance made it clear that the morning paper had already arrived. An involuntary blush suffused Harry's cheeks at the scrutiny, and Fleur didn't fare much better. He wasn't looking forward to the next few days.

Urgent whispers erupted throughout the hall as they made their way to their usual place at the Gryffindor table. Hundreds of curious, jealous, or hateful gazes burned into him, and it was all he could do not to turn around and head for the kitchens so they could eat in peace. Sure, he knew it was coming, but that did not make the scrutiny any easier to bear.

By the time they sat down, the whispers had escalated into a cacophony of shouting voices – most of them female, he noticed. A number of students even stood up to get a better view of the happy couple. With a heavy sigh, Harry let his head fall to the table before he even had a chance to take in the sympathetic expressions most of his friends were wearing.

Fleur gently rubbed his back in a silent offering of comfort, for what little good it did.

"Cheer up, Harry," said Hermione softly. "They'll get over it eventually, just like they always do."

Harry picked his head up and speared her with a dark glare. "Easy for you to say," he groused. "You're not the one who has to deal with it."

Hermione rolled her eyes and tossed her copy of the _Daily Prophet_ across the table at him. "At least the article is good," she shrugged. "Could've been a whole lot worse."

"I can't believe you're doing press releases now," grumbled Ron. "What's next, autographed pictures?"

"Oh, honestly!" snapped Hermione. "What were they _supposed_ to do, Ronald? We all know how accurate Skeeter's version would've been!"

Ron huffed, shook his head, and went back to stuffing his face with wild abandon. Harry was surprised that he was being so restrained; he had honestly expected him to blow up before now. While he still held out a modicum of hope that their friendship could be salvaged, it was really only a matter of time before Ron finally lost control – and something deep in his gut told him that there would be no coming back from it.

While Harry was distracted, Fleur snatched up the paper and unfolded it to read the headline story. Morbidly curious, he leaned up against her so he could follow along:

**Boy-Who-Lived Weds Veela In Private Ceremony**

_by Jean-Claude Laurent  
__reprinted with permission from Le Journal Magique  
__translation by Lolita Wood_

_In a joint press release with Sebastian Alexandre Delacour, Director of Foreign Affairs for the French Ministry of Magic, Harry James Potter today announced his unexpected marriage. On Saturday, 20 March, Mr. Potter was joined in the eyes of Magic to Fleur Annalise Delacour, who is currently competing against him in the world-famous Triwizard Tournament._

_This shocking announcement has taken the world by surprise. Why was Potter, who is decidedly underage, allowed to marry a woman three years older, who he has only just met? While some may decry this union for just that reason, it is quite clear that the intentions of all parties are indisputably honorable._

_The release states that Mr. Potter's appearance with an unconscious Fleur Delacour at the end of the Second Task was not the coincidence that most believed it to be. Indeed, Miss Delacour was attacked by grindylows and would have been killed were it not for his timely intervention. Because of this selfless action, a life debt formed, owed to Mr. Potter._

_The catch: the Beauxbatons Champion is of veela ancestry. As our more astute readers already know, veela magic would have eventually called the debt due. This would have stripped her of her magic and resulted in her untimely demise._

_The only way to repay the debt was through marriage, and in Mr. Potter's own words, "there was no other choice." He therefore chose to sacrifice his future in order to preserve her life. He is a truly remarkable hero in our eyes._

_But while many will fear for his future, there is a brighter side to the story. Several officials from the British and French Ministries of Magic were present at the event, and we spoke briefly with Madam Amelia Bones, Director of Magical Law Enforcement for Britain, who presided over the ceremony. She had this to say:_

"_I've seen Merlin's Blessing before, but never as powerful as it was between those two. It was the most amazing thing I have ever witnessed, and I can honestly say they have a bright future together. I've met with them on several occasions, and this is not a loveless marriage by any stretch of the imagination."_

_Yes, you read that correctly: the couple was granted Magic's rare blessing for their union, which is said to bring good fortune to the recipients. Others who were present indicated that, while Mr. and Mrs. Potter are still getting to know each other, they are remarkably close and very happy together._

_Mr. Potter's long-time friend Hermione Granger (who was recently slandered in Britain's _Daily Prophet_ for allegedly toying with his affections) said, "Harry is completely immune to Fleur's allure, and I've never seen him as happy as when he's with her. I honestly think it's a match made in Heaven. They have my full support."_

_We at Le Journal Magique [ed: and the Daily Prophet] call upon our readers to also throw their full support behind Mr. and Mrs. Potter. They have all the makings of one of the most influential couples in recent history, and we wish them the best._

_[ed: The Potters have asked that the public refrain from sending gifts. As an alternative, Mr. Potter suggests donating in their name to the children's charity of your choice.]_

Harry had to admit that the article was amazingly good. Given their treatment of the Tournament in general, he would have expected the _Prophet_ to take potshots at Fleur at the very least. But as they read through the rest of the paper, which included a surprisingly accurate article about the veela life debt issue, there was nary a negative word to be found.

Before he could say as much, however, the relative peace at the table was interrupted by the last voice Harry wanted to hear.

"Will you join me in my office, Harry?"

The request was accompanied by Dumbledore's hand coming to rest on his shoulder, and he stiffened at the unwelcome contact. A surge of anger bubbled up within at the memory of what the man had done, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to fight it down. Even so, he did not miss Hermione's poorly-hidden look of concern.

They knew this was coming – the Headmaster wasn't likely to ignore it – but that didn't make it any less annoying. Fortunately, Sebastian had spent much of Sunday evening coaching them on how to handle the situation. It was time for Harry to play his part, as hard as that was going to be.

When he finally opened his eyes and rose from the table, he was aware of the scrutiny not only of his fellow students, but also of much of the staff as well. McGonagall in particular was watching through narrowed eyes, and that actually made him feel a bit better. She knew the situation in regards to his wife, and he was hopeful that she would come to his aid if need be.

Concern flooded Fleur's eyes as he leaned over to kiss her cheek. She knew that this would not be a pleasant encounter, but still remained silent, hiding her feelings as best she could. They couldn't afford for Dumbledore to find out that they were aware of the extent his manipulations – and it was going to be very hard to conceal it.

According to Sebastian, Dumbledore was a Master Legilimens.

"See you at lunch, _belle femme_," he offered quietly.

"I will be 'ere," she smiled.

Harry smiled back, and then turned to the Headmaster, taking care to keep his eyes averted. Direct eye contact was the key to Legilimency, and he did _not_ want his thoughts read. There was no telling what would happen if the bastard figured out how much he knew. It wasn't a risk worth taking.

Dumbledore turned and set off at an unhurried pace, and Harry trailed his hand across Fleur's shoulders as he reluctantly followed. Sebastian had taught him some very basic mental exercises in preparation for learning Occlumency, and he made a point of employing them now. They would relax his mind and help to control his emotions; he could in no way afford to let on how angry he already was.

With luck, he wouldn't need to act after this meeting; it wasn't likely that the outcome would be in his favor, which would give him plenty of apparent reason to be mad at the old goat.

To Harry, the silence was thick and oppressive as they rode the staircase to the Headmaster's office, but he did his best to ignore it. As he entered, his eyes were immediately drawn to the beautiful phoenix on its perch at the side of the room. Ever since that first encounter, Harry had been quite fascinated with the creatures.

Ignoring the Headmaster for the moment, he made his way over. "Hello, Fawkes," he offered softly as he reached out to smooth the beautiful crimson feathers on the bird's back.

Fawkes trilled a bright note of welcome and cocked his head, examining Harry closely. Between the mental exercises and the calming presence of the phoenix, however, he was in for quite a surprise when he met the bird's curious gaze. It was subtle – almost undetectable – but he was certain that he felt a foreign presence slipping into his mind.

They locked gazes for a long moment before the presence receded.

Where a mental intrusion would have been thoroughly unwelcome from another human being, Harry didn't mind it so much from Fawkes. Phoenixes were purely light creatures, and he suspected that no phoenix would ever approve of what Dumbledore had done. Really, he wondered why Fawkes stayed with the man.

Fawkes chirped brightly and held out a talon to him, and realizing what he wanted, Harry smiled and offered an arm in return. Sure enough, the phoenix happily hopped aboard, letting out another pleased trill. Then he leaned forward and nuzzled Harry's cheek with obvious affection.

"Please have a seat, Harry," offered Dumbledore in a calm, grandfatherly tone.

Harry didn't bother to put Fawkes back on his perch – he was the perfect excuse not to make eye contact with the Headmaster – but he complied, moving to sit in the uncomfortable straight-backed chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. He suspected that it was uncomfortable on purpose; an uncomfortable student was more likely to slip and reveal something.

Dumbledore watched impassively as Harry turned his attention back to the phoenix on his arm. Fawkes seemed to enjoy having the back of his neck scratched, occasionally turning one way or the other to offer a different spot. It made Harry smile a genuine smile; it was hard to be angry, sad, or depressed in the presence of a phoenix.

This went on for a few minutes before Dumbledore finally broke the silence.

"I was quite surprised that you had no reaction to the morning paper," he mused simply.

Harry merely shrugged in response.

Sebastian had advised him not to respond to open-ended statements; it was best to wait for an actual question, and only speak otherwise when necessary. The crash course he received from his father-in-law on handling Albus Dumbledore was surprising, mostly because Harry could identify all of the various tactics in their previous encounters. Sebastian's Pensieve saw quite a bit of use that evening as they reviewed them all.

Leading statements like that one, and the long silence before it, were Dumbledore's favorite methods of gaining information. But now that Harry was aware of it – and his memories had borne it out – he had no intention of falling for it ever again. Sebastian had drilled it into his head that he had no reason to worry, so it was therefore better to wait for a direct question, even if it might seem disrespectful.

And besides, he had absolutely no reason to discuss anything at all with the old goat. Albus Dumbledore was not his guardian and had no right whatsoever to pry into his personal business. In point of fact, his interest in Harry's life was highly inappropriate for a man in any of the positions he held.

His lack of response elicited a frown from Dumbledore that only deepened as the silence stretched. It would have been uncomfortable if not for Fawkes, but as it was, Harry was suitably entertained. Fawkes was in a playful mood, and obviously enjoyed the attention he was receiving.

Finally, though, after nearly a full minute of silence, Dumbledore gave up and spoke.

"I will contact the Daily Prophet for you this afternoon," he offered. "I'm certain they will be willing to retract the story, which should help you avoid the kind of attention you received this morning."

Harry's narrowed his eyes at his presumption, but forced himself to remain polite. "That won't be necessary, sir, but thank you anyway," he replied.

Dumbledore blinked in obvious surprise. "You plan to contact them yourself?" he asked skeptically. "You must be extremely cautious in your approach or they will only slander you further. I would very much prefer that you allow me to handle this for you given my experience in these matters."

Harry sighed internally and prepared himself for what was to come. It was impossible to tell if Dumbledore believed the article or was merely acting. Regardless, this was the beginning of what was sure to be a downward spiral for this meeting if his assessment of the man was correct.

That said, at least for the moment, he needed to play the part of not having anything against his Headmaster, at least until Dumbledore started pressing for information he wasn't entitled to. Only then would he be able to show some of his irritation with the man; it would be only natural as far as Dumbledore was concerned.

"I think you misunderstood me, Professor," he replied calmly. "I don't need to contact them because I don't have a problem with what they printed." Frowning slightly, he added, "I'm not exactly thrilled about announcing something we consider personal, but it was either that or risk having Skeeter get hold of it."

Dumbledore's eyes widened fractionally in surprise at his words, leading Harry to believe that he'd thought it just another flight of fancy on the part of the _Daily Prophet_. It was suddenly hard to keep a smirk off his face: the man was not so all-knowing as he would like to have everyone believe. He mentally scored a point for himself as he went back to petting Fawkes and waiting for the inevitable reaction.

It took a long moment for the Headmaster to recover, and then–

"I'm sorry," he said slowly, "but are you implying that you did indeed marry Miss Delacour?"

"Everything they printed was the truth, sir," shrugged Harry.

"I see," he said. But then his look turned calculating, which was cause for significant concern. "And where did the wedding take place?" he asked carefully.

Harry sighed and did his best to look regretful. "Sorry, sir," he said with a shake of his head, "Fleur and I agreed to only talk about what was in the press release."

Dumbledore frowned deeply at his response, and Harry quickly realized that this was where things would get ugly. Ignoring the silence that fell once again – the man was either slow, or hadn't figured out yet that the tactic would no longer work on him – he refocused on Fawkes and ran a finger along the crest atop his head. Fawkes closed his eyes at the gentle contact, clearly enjoying it.

"Harry, please look at me," requested Dumbledore quietly.

But Harry just shook his head again; he wasn't about to fall for _that_! "Sorry, sir," he said again. "I mean no disrespect, but I know you're a Legilimens, and I'm not comfortable with it until I can protect myself. I'm not real big on the idea of having someone else in my head after what happened to Ginny with the diary."

Dumbledore's grandfatherly mask actually cracked at his honest statement, and anger flashed in his eyes, though it was quickly hidden. Harry had no doubt now that the git had used it on him in the past, which was very disturbing. Exactly how much did he know about what they got up to in previous years?

How much did he know about the Dursleys?

He'd gone through many scenarios for neutralizing Dumbledore's Legilimency with Sebastian – it would be a while before he would have sufficient skill to block an ant, let alone the most powerful Wizard in the world – and in the end they decided on simply admitting that he was aware of it. Sebastian figured that the diary issue would deflect suspicion, and Harry agreed. While Dumbledore was a perceptive man, it was also readily apparent that he didn't truly understand the workings of a teenage mind.

The aging Headmaster steepled his fingers under his chin and nodded sagely, but Harry knew it was an act. The anger that broke through for that brief instant said it all. He had just lost one of his most useful weapons, and he was likely to be rather unhappy about it, regardless of how it appeared.

"I suppose that is understandable," he allowed quietly, "I must, however, insist on having the details of the situation."

Harry sighed deeply. "With all due respect, sir, it's not the school's business," he reminded him bluntly. "Our marriage is very personal to us, and we've already said far more than we ever wanted to say about it."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, and his voice took on a stern edge. "You are underage, Mr. Potter," he said with surprising directness. "You cannot legally enter into marriage without permission from your guardians, and we both know that the Dursleys would never agree to it."

"I'm aware of the requirements, sir," said Harry simply. "I give you my word that our marriage is completely legal."

Silence descended once again in the wake of his statement, and Harry took to scratching Fawkes' belly while he waited for the next move. It was the truth, though, and all the man had to do to see it was look up their marriage license at the Ministry of Magic. Amelia had filed all the appropriate documents for them, so it was completely and perfectly legal – and besides, it couldn't be changed anyway due to the nature of marriage in the magical world.

The bond was permanent once formed.

Nearly two minutes passed before the Headmaster finally straightened in his chair, clearly perturbed that his efforts hadn't elicited the response he expected. And as he straightened, the grandfatherly image fell away, and Harry felt a small magical eddy emanating from him. He was apparently going to try intimidation now.

"I require your cooperation, Mr. Potter," he said sternly, drawing a surprised sort of look from Fawkes. "I cannot take the chance of inappropriate behavior occurring between yourself and Miss Delacour."

Harry's eyes involuntarily narrowed, and this time he didn't bother masking it. The man wouldn't take no for an answer, and that was cause enough to be annoyed with him. It was hard to have confidence in the face of someone so magically and politically powerful, but he gathered every last bit he had to his name. Powerful or not, the man was a criminal as far as he was concerned.

"Her name is Fleur _Potter_, Headmaster," he retorted. "And with all due respect, our marriage is none of your business. I won't answer questions about it."

Dumbledore's eyes likewise narrowed, and he leaned forward across the desk, still staring at Harry's ear. "Then I'm afraid I will have to restrict your movements," he warned.

Harry said nothing and simply waited for the hammer to fall. The man had no authority over him as far as his relationship with Fleur went, and if he actually tried to enforce such a punishment, it would bring far too much attention to his interference in Harry's life. It was likely an idle threat, and Harry had no intention of letting him win this particular battle.

After another full minute of silence, the Headmaster finally shook his head. "Very well, you leave me no choice," he said. "With the exception of class time, you are restricted to your dormitory, and you may not have visitors. Dobby will provide your meals."

To say that Harry was surprised at this declaration was an understatement, but it only delayed his anger for the briefest of moments. That was about as heavy-handed as he could possibly get! His entire argument about 'inappropriate behavior' was flimsy, too, considering that Fleur wasn't even a Hogwarts student and didn't live in Gryffindor Tower.

He couldn't help the color that rose in his cheeks, but he somehow managed to bite back his initial response, turning once again to his mental exercises. Eyes closed, he focused on the feel of Fawkes' feathers for a long moment as he forced his anger back. He needed to think rationally.

There was no possible way he would put up with this, and besides, the punishment couldn't be enforced without drawing attention, could it?

In fact...

"No, sir," he said firmly.

He opened his eyes to find that Fawkes was giving Dumbledore a dirty look, and had to suppress a morbidly amused snort. He'd never known that a bird was capable of that, but Fawkes' expression was beyond description. It was clear that he did _not_ approve – but either Dumbledore didn't see it, or he completely ignored it.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter?" he asked with a dangerous edge to his voice. "I don't believe I heard you correctly."

"You heard me perfectly, Headmaster," Harry countered without missing a beat. "My private business is exactly that, and I won't accept punishment for keeping it that way."

It came out more harshly than he intended, but he really didn't care. Dumbledore was pushing him quite hard, probably because there was very little he could actually do. A letter to the Board of Governors would have him in a world of hurt for a stunt like that.

And from the look on the man's face, it seemed that Harry's sudden rebellion caught him completely off-guard. Never before had Harry blatantly refused one of his requests – let alone an order – and he apparently had no idea what to do about it. It was interesting to watch.

But Harry was shocked when Dumbledore chose to play his trump card.

"Then I'm afraid that I will have to expel you," he said quietly. "I cannot have a student in this school who will not submit to my authority."

Harry couldn't help it this time: he snorted loudly.

That was an empty threat if he'd ever heard one! The Boy Who Lived, expelled from Hogwarts for no good reason? It would be a huge scandal! On top of that, there was no way the man would ever willingly let him leave: he needed him there so he could control him.

It was a great mystery why that was so, but Harry had no doubt that it was true. All that time spent in the Pensieve with the Delacours going over his school career bore it out. The man wanted to be in charge of his life for some strange reason – maybe because of the mysterious prophecy – and he wasn't about to let it continue.

In a moment of inspiration, Harry decided that turnabout might just be fair play in this instance, and he pushed abruptly to his feet before he could lose his nerve. It was an extreme gamble, but he had confidence in his estimate of the situation. The worst that could happen is that he would have to pay for private tutors, which would by no means be a problem.

"You know what?" he said conversationally. "You go right ahead, sir. I think I'll go find Madam Maxime. I'm sure she'll be thrilled to have me as a student."

And with that, he turned and headed for the door, totally missing the look of abject horror that crossed Dumbledore's face.

By the time the man recovered, he was already gone.


End file.
